


The winds will call me home to you

by AthenaDear



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Each chapter will relate to a region and will follow the chronology of the game., F/F, I'll add more characters as they are introduced, Mutual Pining, OH and SPOILERS, like a lot of them, my god these ladies are soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 114,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AthenaDear/pseuds/AthenaDear
Summary: Whilst Eivor travels across England securing alliances, Randvi waits for her return.(A series of one-shots building on the interactions between Eivor and Randvi when she returns from securing an alliance.)
Relationships: Eivor/Randvi (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 193
Kudos: 516





	1. Grantebridgescire

**Grantebridgescire**

Eivor could still remember the first time her father had taken her out on their fishing boat when she was 6 winters old. She had clung to her mother’s leg as she watched her father prepare their vessel, scowling at the sea with untrusting eyes as the waves swelled around the wooden planks of the tiny boat. Varin, who had been watching Eivor out of the corner of his eye, had laughed at the sour expression on his daughter’s face before lunging forward, hoisting her into his strong arms and placing her gently in the bow of the ship. She remembered clenching her eyes tightly shut as she gripped the side of the boat, only opening them when a gentle breeze caressed her cheeks as if enticing her to be brave, to trust that she would not be harmed. The moment her eyes landed on the ice-blue sea below was the moment she fell in love with sailing.

“You see Eivor?” Varin had exclaimed as he beckoned for her to join him. Holding the ropes tightly in one hand he had reached down and scooped Eivor into the air, pulling her to him tightly as their boat rocked with the tide.

“There is no need to fear the waves little drengr.” He had said as Eivor laughed at his futile attempts to place her on top of the mast. “These waves will carry you to places you have only seen in your dreams. To stay in one place is a sorry way to live your life Eivor, you must always venture forth no matter the risks or the costs. Do you understand?” She did not and her father had nodded once, as if suspecting that was the case. No matter, he had plenty of time to educate her before he was welcomed into Valhalla.

“You will Eivor.”

She did not think on his words again until they had left the frozen lands of her birth in search of glory abroad. Shortly after landing in England, when Sigurd had instructed her to forge alliances and sail the rivers in search of supplies to build their settlement, her father’s words echoed through the years and instilled within her a sense of excitement. Later, as she had boarded the Longship with Grantebridge fixed in her sights, it was her father’s words that had filled their sails and propelled her forwards.

“Ah tis good to be home!” Bragi said as he gripped the rudder and guided the ship through the shallow waters. A rumble of agreement rippled through the crew as each of them envisioned the return waiting for them around the river’s bend. They had been away for only a few weeks but it had felt like an eternity. Their eyes had grown wide with wonder as they traveled through the lush green fields and marshlands of England but there was no denying how good it felt to return to their people.

The sound of horns bellowing in the distance pulled Eivor from her thoughts and she leapt to her feet as the Longship gently collided with the wooden dock at the edge of their settlement. Already a gathering had begun to form at the water’s edge and she couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

Once the ship had been secured against the wooden dock and the crowds had dispersed enough for them to disembark, Eivor gathered her weapons and stepped over the side, breathing the air deeply as she looked around at the bustling settlement. Despite only being in this new land for a matter of weeks their clan had made great strides to turn what remained of the decaying camp into a place to call home and Eivor beamed with pride. The sound of a chest being dropped onto the dock made her spin on the balls of her feet with her fists, raised expecting a fight. Her hands dropped to her side as Birna snickered and she stepped back to let the woman set foot on dry land.

“Welcome to Ravensthorpe Birna!” She said as her crew began offloading the supplies they had raided from a monastery upriver. Their new raider stepped aside as Dag stormed past, clutching his share of the silver, and looked around their growing settlement with her hands on her hips, a critical eye sweeping over the landscape before landing on Eivor who was watching her closely, waiting with bated breath to see if their home met with her approval.

“A fine settlement sunbeam, but it is missing…. something.” She took a few steps forward and studied the ground at her feet. “Has been missing it for quite a while it seems.”

Eivor’s hopeful expression flickered into dismay as she looked around her. It seemed that the most important buildings had been established in her absence, such as the trading post and the raiders' barracks, but had some other crucial structure been neglected? After a few seconds of contemplative silence, she turned to Birna with a questioning gaze.

“Missing what?”

Birna bumped her shoulder against Eivor’s before grabbing her war chest and strolling towards the raider’s barracks. Once a few steps away (and safely out of Eivor’s reach) she turned to face the drengr with a smug expression gracing her sun-tanned features.

“Me of course!” Eivor scoffed and rolled her eyes at the woman’s attempt at humour before making her way towards the Longhouse, the sun’s warmth beating down from above making it uncomfortably hot under her thick leather armor.

‘ _I should speak to Gunnar about wearing something lighter’_ she thought as she passed the forge, raising her hand as Gunnar waved his hammer at her in greeting. A stray ember from the fire landing on his boot drew Gunnar’s attention away from her and she smiled fondly at the stream of curses that left his lips.

“Careful Gunnar, I do not wish to rebuild your forge!” His curses became a distant hum as she continued her stroll past the partially finished Assassin’s Bureau and she made a mental note to finish the roofing in the morning before indulging in some hunting. The look of gratitude on Hytham’s face would more than make up for the early start.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she approached the Longhouse and paused its threshold to survey her craftsmanship with a discerning eye. It was larger than the Longhouse back in Fornburg (something that Sigurd had insisted on) but other than its size, the architectural design mirrored the Longhouses of her old home. The sloping curve of its roof temporarily blocked the sun’s rays and gave her the chance to scrutinise the shingles she had fitted to the timber beams a few weeks ago.

Apart from the odd missing tile, the roof seemed to be holding and Eivor entered the structure with a sense of satisfaction.

“Good day Eivor.” Randvi called from her hunched over position by the Alliance Map. Eivor felt her heart quicken as she approached the older woman, the tension which she had been carrying in her shoulders since leaving for Grantebridgescire melting away.

Like the rest of the settlement the War Room had changed dramatically; maps which had been left to decay had been sorted and bundled together, thick, blue fabric now hung from the rafters which gave the room a degree of privacy from the rest of the hall and treasured relics from Norway now decorated the once empty corners of the room.

Randvi forced her attention to remain on the map of England in front of her but she couldn’t help but watch out of the corner of her eyes as Eivor inspected the room and the changes she had made. It also gave her a chance to scrutinise Eivor herself. Overall she seemed well; no obvious injuries (although Eivor had a talent for hiding cuts and scrapes) and her armor showed no signs of significant damage must to Randvi’s relief. She felt the corners of her mouth twitch as she observed the way Eivor moved effortlessly through the room, her hugr filling every inch and crevice of the small chamber. The woman’s presence had been something she had greatly missed these last few weeks although she wasn’t sure why this absence had affected her so greatly. Eivor had often disappeared for weeks, months on end but never had Randvi felt so anxious as she waiting impatiently for her return. As Eivor walked towards her Randvi vowed to reflect on those thoughts at a later date, if only to satisfy her own sense of curiosity.

Impressed by the woman’s work Eivor turned and fixed Randvi with a beaming grin which was returned with a gentle smile. For Eivor, the thought of returning to Randvi’s side had helped dull the bitter regret she had felt at leaving Grantebridge and she was content to remain in Randvi’s company for a moment longer, even if no words were exchanged. Eventually, the heavy weight of obligation made itself known to both of them and Randvi turned back the map in front of her, her hand hovering over the hilt of the dagger embedded in the map as she waited for Eivor to report on the region.

“We are allied with the Danes of Grantebridgescire.” Eivor approached the table and placed her hands on the edge. “Their Jarlskona, Soma, has pledged an oath.” Randvi hesitated - was she imagining it or did Eivor’s eyes shine a tiny bit brighter when she mentioned the other woman? She felt her brow furrow at the implication and tried to ignore the way her throat tightened as Eivor continued her report. 

“Well done Eivor. These early victories will pay off well.” Cheeks began to burn as Randvi heaped praise onto Eivor’s shoulders and she dipped her head both in acknowledgment and embarrassment. If Randvi noticed Eivor’s reaction she failed to comment, choosing instead to replace the dagger with one of the black, wooden ravens she had found hidden in an old chest.

“They will. In more than one way. One of Soma’s best fighters, Birna, has pledged her blade to us. She’s a powerful fighter and a charming spirit. I think she’ll fit in nicely.” Eivor smiled to herself as she remembered the way she and Birna had fought together over the last few days. The woman’s skill with a blade would be a valuable asset not to mention the effect her charming personality would have on the more uptight members of the clan. She bit her lip to stifle the snicker threatening to burst from her lips at the image of Birna chasing Dag around the docks with a wet fish in her grasp.

“Glad to have her. Good work.” Although desperate to enquire further about Soma, Randvi forced herself not to ask the question she desperately wanted to ask for fear of the answer. In the three winters since their meeting, she had seen the effect Eivor’s affections had had on the young men and women of their clan but their dalliances had never lasted long, certainly not long enough for Eivor to develop an attachment. Maybe this time was different….

As Eivor studied the Alliance Map laid out in front of her, Randvi’s eyes drifted to the stack of papers on her desk. Her scouts had provided detailed reports covering Eivor’s arrival in Grantebridgescire: from her initial meeting with Soma to the raid on the Saxon stronghold and although those reports had been clinical and fact-driven, they each mentioned one thing in detail: Soma .

All three of her scouts had mentioned the way Soma had leaned on Eivor in the initial days following her arrival, how they had seemed to be two halves of the same coin working in tandem to achieve their goals despite overwhelming odds. Sunniva, who had returned home two days ahead of Eivor, had told her of their final meeting and how Eivor had been gifted a sturdy shield bearing the crest of Soma’s clan, one which was still securely strapped to the raiders's back. It was this part of Sunniva’s report that had worried the red-headed woman the most for reasons not yet clear to her.

“We should hold a feast to welcome Birna into our clan.”

“A fine idea Eivor, perhaps you can share a tale or two of your time away? The clan will be thirsty for knowledge of this new land.” She doubted the clan would care at all given the weeks of manual labour they had endured but Randvi was too stubborn to ask the blonde warrior outright for details. No, if she wanted to understand Eivor’s true feelings towards their new ally she would need to be as cunning as Loki. 

The smile which had graced Eivor’s features dimmed slightly as the thought of addressing her clan presented itself. She was many things; a fighter, a sympathetic ear, even a leader when the situation demanded but a public speaker she was not. Long forgotten fears of standing at the front of the hall, tripping over a table leg, and falling flat on her face made her grimace and she turned to Randvi with pleading eyes.

“Perhaps I could tell you these tales and you could relay the messages for me?” The gentle melody of Randvi’s laugh echoing through the halls wrapped itself around Eivor and filled her heart with a warmth she had not felt for many years. She watched awestruck as Randvi’s eyes filled with mirth and she couldn’t help but laugh along with her, any worries about speaking to their people disappearing as quickly as they had come.

“Come Eivor, let us spread the word and gather supplies for this evening.” Eivor gladly obeyed and fell into step with Randvi as they left the Longhouse, their shared laughter filling the hall behind them.

-///-///-///-

After many hours of feasting and drinking the once full Longhouse was beginning to empty, with many choosing to return to their homes before the moon rose too high in the sky. Eivor smiled from her vantage point at the back of the hall as she watched a band of drunk raiders stumbled through the archway into the open air, their laughter ringing in her ears as they disappeared into the night. She turned back to those who remained and found an empty seat at one of the tables, choosing to sit beside Rowan who was captivated by the latest tale to leave Birna’s lips.

“There I was, locked in a shabby cabin with at least 10 Saxon soldiers pounding on the door. My fellow raiders were either injured, drunk or scared shitless and I confess that even I was beginning to lose hope of escaping such a perilous situation. Then, she appeared. Through the brush, she came with fire in her eyes as if Thor himself was pushing her forward into the fray.” Birna paused in her tale, delighting in holding so many people’s attention. The seconds dragged on, the anticipation growing to an unbearable point until finally, Birna screamed Eivor’s name into the air. “Eivor Wolf-Kissed! The scourge of Mercia!” An almighty cheer shook the rafters of the Longhouse and Eivor blushed deeply as hands clapped her on the shoulder.

“Her blades twirled in the sunlight, striking down every poor fool who stepped into her path as if they were made of straw. Why I even saw a man drop dead all because Eivor glanced in his direction.” Eivor groaned as Birna’s story drifted from an accurate portrayal of what happened to an elaborate exaggeration of her ‘godlike’ abilities. Hazarding a glance at Dag who sat at the table in front of her, she bit her lip and cringed at his furious expression. She had long suspected that Dag had become resentful of her good fortune and the last thing she needed was Birna’s well-intentioned exaggerations fuelling his ire.

“I assume that the last part did not happen?” She was so consumed by her thoughts that she failed to notice Randvi hovering by her side wearing an amused expression and holding two horns of mead. Her cheeks were flushed but Eivor couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol, the warmth of the fire or ... something else. Either way, Eivor found the glow of her cheeks captivating and she found it difficult to look away. Randvi dropped into the seat Rowan had occupied before rushing off to challenge Holger in a drinking contest and handed the blonde drengr an overflowing horn of mead which was greatly accepted.

“Not exactly.” Eivor took a sip of the cool liquid as another cheer was let out by the raiders. Her eyes drifted back to Birna but Randvi suspected she wasn’t watching their new clan member at all, rather her gaze was fixed on a battle she would never get to see.

“Birna did see a Saxon drop dead after I looked at him, that much is true, but only because Soma killed him with a well-shot arrow. Poor bacraut didn’t even have time to say a prayer to his god.” Randvi felt her mood sour as Soma was once again brought up in conversation. Before they had left Norway, the name Soma had meant nothing to the Raven Clan but now her name seemed to be on the lips of everyone who fought with her and everyone who hadn’t.

To prevent herself from saying something she would later regret, Randvi brought her own mead horn to her lips and drank deeply, resurfacing a few moments later with her horn now drained. Eivor watched in awe and reached out to steady Randvi’s swaying shoulders. 

“Are you trying to get drunk Randvi?” She asked, not liking the way Randvi avoided her gaze in favour of studying the grain of the wooden table. She had watched the woman closely as the feast had progressed late into the evening, mentally counting how many horns of mead she had consumed. It was a secret known only to her that Randvi could not handle her alcohol and it had been both refreshing and concerning to see her indulge so heavily.

“Will you tell me about Soma?” The question caught them both off guard; Eivor because she hadn’t expected Some to be a topic of discussion so soon after returning and Randvi because she hadn’t expected to ask that question at all. Randvi rushed to apologise as Eivor stared into the distance, her fear that she had overstepped warding off the alcohol’s effects for a few minutes. Eivor waved her hand as if swatting a fly putting an end to Randvi’s apologetic mumbling. The drengr drank deeply from her horn as she carefully considered her answer before deciding that this discussion was best had in the cool air, away from the drunken antics of their people. She glanced around to make sure the rest of the table were too distracted by alcohol to notice them slip away before rising from her seat and motioning for Randvi to join her.

“What would you like to know?” She led the intoxicated woman from the crowded Longhouse, expertly weaving around drunk raiders and fighting shopkeepers. Her hand hovered by Randvi’s elbow as the woman collided with the edge of a table, much to the delight of Tove and Sunniva who had never seen Randvi so unsteady on her feet. A stern look from Eivor silenced their giggles and the two stepped into the cold air, walking towards the back of the building to escape prying eyes.

“You developed a close bond with her in the short time you were together.” Randvi muttered as she turned her face to the sky, counting the number of stars she could see and frowning when she realized that she recognised very few of them. She wondered whether Eivor and Soma had counted the stars on the darkest of nights, whether they lay side by side as they traded stories of heroic deeds …

“You must have shared quite an experience.” Eivor leaned against the wooden pillars supporting the roof of the building as she considered the unspoken question. It had been an exhilarating few weeks. From the moment she had met the Jarlskona she knew that she deserved her respect. As the days passed and the two became embroiled in treachery and warfare it had become impossible not to admire the woman for everything she had accomplished, both for her people and for herself. She had been saddened when the winds inevitably called her home and it was only the memory of what she was returning home _to_ that prevented her from offering her blade to the Jarlskona.

“We grew very close very quickly but it would have been impossible not to given the circumstances of our meeting. I believe she was grateful for my counsel and will aid us should we call.”

“Good…that is good.” Despite being provided with the opportunity to further analyse the new relationship Eivor had forged, something she had both feared and craved since she received her first report, Randvi found herself at a loss of what to say. She wasn’t sure if it was the mead or the company that impeded her thoughts but either way, she was desperate to get thoughts of Soma out of her mind. It was a shame her mead loosened tongue had other ideas…

“Did you…did she…” Her words died in her throat and she pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance. She knew that she wanted to ask but clearly one of Freya’s cats had hold of her tongue. She wanted, no… _needed_ to know just how close the two had become.

“If I did not know better I would say you were jealous.” Although said in jest the very notion of jealousy struck Randvi like a lightning bolt. Of course, it was so clear to her now. She was inexplicably and infuriatingly jealous of a woman she had never met, who she most likely never would meet unless circumstances forced them both onto the battlefield. How had she not seen this sooner? The late nights pouring over maps of the area, the long hours interrogating her scouts for every drop of information.... by the gods she had been jealous from the moment Eivor had left her side.

“Randvi? Are you well?” She didn’t realise she had been staring at the horizon with a dumbstruck expression until Eivor stepped into her line of vision with concern shining in her eyes.

“Y-yes….yes I am fine.” She was anything but. Images which had been kept at bay through ignorance of her own feelings flooded her mind and left her breathless with desire. Images of Eivor pulling her into her arms and trailing soft, teasing kisses along her neck before slipping a firm thigh between her legs --

“You are shaking Randvi, are you sure you are well?”

“Yes – completely fine!”

Eivor didn’t believe her, not entirely. Her eyes swept over Randvi as she searched for signs of pain or discomfort, anything to explain why the woman couldn’t hold her gaze for more than a few seconds.

“You are drunk.”

Randvi scoffed at the implication and folded her arms in annoyance. “I am sober enough.” Eivor’s lip curled in amusement as she studied Randvi’s indignant expression. She couldn’t help but be reminded of when Knud had once insisted that he was not tired, before promptly falling asleep against her shoulder and forcing her to carry him home. Knowing just how stubborn the woman could be, she decided to let the matter lie for now. A bitter wind swept through the settlement and she shrugged off her fur cloak, brushing off specks of mud before draping it over Randvi’s shoulders.

“Come Randvi.” She muttered in a hushed voice. “The feast has all but died away and you should rest. Perhaps Tekla’s new mead disagrees with you?” Randvi nodded absentmindedly as Eivor led them through the now empty Longhouse, the newfound revelation of her jealousy proving to be too much of a distraction for Randvi as she allowed Eivor to skillfully guide her through the hall. Despite the fire which was still roaring, she felt the chill of the evening air cling to her bones and she tugged the heavy material tighter around her shoulders, relishing in the warmth slowly seeping into her.

All too soon they arrived at the edge of the chambers she shared with Sigurd and her eyes landed on her marital bed, a lump forming in her throat as her mind drifted to her absent husband. What would he think of her revelation? Would he be furious? Hurt? Or would he accept it as an obvious fact just as her mind and heart had done? Turning away from the bed, she made to remove the cloak from her shoulders, only stopping when Eivor stepped back with a shake of her head.

“Keep it, if only to keep you warm tonight.” The two stared at each other for a few more moments before Eivor reluctantly took her leave.

“Sleep well Randvi.” The red-haired maiden whispered a goodnight as she watched Eivor cross the hall before disappearing into her own chambers, leaving her alone with her traitorous thoughts and a cloak that did not belong to her. Hesitantly she tucked her face into the fur and inhaled deeply, her heart skipping a beat as she breathed in the smell of pine needles, wood smoke, and something that was unique only to Eivor.

“Gods….” It was clear that the feelings she had long held for Eivor, feelings she had long associated with respect and appreciation were actually of a different nature altogether. She slowly removed Eivor’s cloak and placed it carefully on the edge of her bed before undressing and climbing under the numerous furs. Her hand hesitantly reached out to tug the cloak closer to her side as her thoughts inevitably drifted back to the woman resting a few metres away.

There was no use denying it any longer; the fear she had felt when she thought Eivor had taken Soma as a lover and the overwhelming, earth-shattering relief when she realised that was not the case cemented the truth in the mind. She cared for Eivor more than she cared for her husband or any lover she had taken in her youth.

As she slipped into a restless slumber with her hand still clenched around Eivor’s cloak, she realised that caring for Eivor was as natural as rising in the morning and resting in the evening and that to love her would surely be just as easy as breathing. 


	2. Ledecesterschire

When Randvi had received Eivor’s hastily scribbled note advising her that they would soon be receiving an honoured guest she had expected a fierce war chief or a diplomat, not a young man who didn’t look old enough to be able to lead a horse let alone ride one unassisted. Ceolbert, Son of King Ceolwulf had arrived in a flurry of excited words and rushed movements, jumping from his horse before Rowan had even gripped the reigns and rushing to Randvi with excitement brimming in his doe-like eyes.

She had stared bewildered as he hurriedly explained that Sigurd had given him leave to stay with them and how he had fought beside Eivor and the sons of Ragnor before launching into a detailed report on his journey from Ledecesterschire to the Ravensthorpe. She had tried to interrupt if only to find out if he was well from the journey but Ceolbert ignored her attempts in order to retell the stories he had heard from Sigurd before the two had parted ways.

She had heard these stories many times before but as she looked at him with a degree of fondness in her eyes, she felt no desire to interrupt. It had been a long time since she encountered someone so enthusiastic and she found herself laughing along with his dramatic retelling of Sigurd’s disastrous attempt at hunting a boar. Eventually, Ceolbert ran out of steam and he looked around as if only just realising that he had arrived at the settlement. His brow furrowed and he ducked his head as shame ran through him; if his father knew that he had acted like an excited child rather than a future king he would surely be displeased. Forcing himself to suppress his childlike wonder he straightened his back, clasped his hands tightly and tipped forward into a bow.

“I am Ceolbert, son of the King of Mercia.” He said with pride in his voice. Randvi bit back an affectionate smile at his attempts to appear regal and stoic before tilting her head in acknowledgment.

“Welcome Ceolbert. I am Randvi, wife of Sigurd Jarl. Are you well from your journey?” With the pleasantries out of the way she outstretched her arm towards the Longhouse and the two fell into step.

“I am. I must apologise for my hasty arrival.” The boy looked sheepish and Randvi was quick to reassure him that all was well. As he looked around the settlement, noticing for the first time the lack of warriors and corpses, she doubted he had ever encountered a Viking not currently planning warfare or pillaging and she was determined to leave a lasting impression.

With an affectionate smile already gracing her features, she ushered the young man into the Longhouse, determined to see him well fed before he collapsed from over-excitement.

As expected he sat heavily at one of the benches by the fire and gratefully expected a bowl of mutton stew which had been simmering away happily. He looked around with wide eyes, eager to take everything in before pointing at the stuffed bear head adorning the far wall.

“My god I did not think a bear could grow to such a size.” Randvi followed his gaze and smiled at the memory of a beaming Eivor dragging the animal into the settlement with blood and dirt coating her tunic. It had taken weeks of scrubbing to remove the animals' entrails from the wooden flooring but it had been worth it to see Eivor look so triumphant.

“Indeed, Eivor is a skilled hunter.” She didn’t bother to hide the note of pride in her voice. Eivor’s accomplishments had surpassed everyone’s expectations, especially those of the few clan members who still remembered how headstrong and stubborn she had been in her youth. If only Stybjorn could have seen what his wayward daughter was capable of before their hasty retreat from the northern isles.

“It seems Eivor has many skills, not just diplomacy.” She smiled as she imagined Eivor negotiating peace between two warring clans. In her mind’s eyes Eivor was the picture of calm and control but she knew that often was not the case. It certainly wasn’t in the case of their Jarl who had often stormed from his fathers chambers whenever a diplomatic solution presented itself.

“So tell me young aetheling, why has our Jarl sent you to us? Surely your borders are not so dangerous that you have had to flee your home?”

“I’m afraid I have.” Ceolbert eyed the mug of mead placed before him with suspicion before hesitantly taking a sip. He grimaced at the bitter taste but tried to disguise his displeasure for fear of offending his new hosts. “My father came to power by rather… violent means and he is concerned that a rebellion may arise. Sigurd graciously offered to accept me into his clan until it is safe for me to join my father.”

**“** If Sigurd deems you worthy of our hospitality you shall receive it. Come, I will show you the war room before letting you explore the settlement. Perhaps you can provide new insight into what we have learned so far?” Ceolbert’s eyes lit up at the thought of being able to assist his new mentor and he readily climbed to his feet, his barely touched mead left for another time.

“So this is where you devise your plans.” He said as he laid eyes on the room Randvi spent most of her days. “A cosy room, well-lit and fortified.” She opened her mouth to reply but the distant sound of heavy footsteps slowly growing louder made the air freeze in her lungs. Her eyes slipped from that of her young ward to the archway as Eivor strolled through with arms outstretched and an easy smile on her lips.

“Ah! Glad to see you made it, Ceolbert.” The two clasped hands tightly.

“Thanks to Sigurd. He was a good guide and even better company. He told me some incredible stories, the best ones were about you.” The drengr felt her heart cease beating for several seconds as she thought of which particular stories her brother had shared with their young charge.

“Hopefully nothing too embarrassing.” _By Odin please don’t tell me Sigurd told you about the chickens….._

“There were a few gems.” As much as she enjoyed seeing the pair of them talk like old friends Randvi was desperate to know whether an alliance had been secured with the sons of Ragnor.

“Not to interrupt, Eivor, but what of Ledecesterschire?”

“The alliance is won. The sons of Ragnor are friends to our clan.” In truth she had been sceptical that Ubba and Ivarr’s plan would work but here she stood with an iron bracelet clasped tightly in her hand and a new king to call friend– it was nice to be proved wrong.

“Glad to hear it. Well done to you both.” Randvi slid a black raven across the map and pocketed the dagger – she would need to ask Gunnar to sharpen it if Eivor was going to continue stabbing the wooden table. Ceolbert watched Randvi’s movements with interest.

“Fascinating, is this how you keep track of your forces?”

“In a way.”

_‘If anything it is a way to keep track of Eivor.’_ Randvi silently added, her eyes subconsciously drifting to the drengr in question who stubbornly refused to meet her gaze. No matter - the slight blush creeping up Eivor’s neck and cheeks was all the proof she needed that Eivor knew exactly what the dagger was for.

Randvi began placing white statues of what she assumed were Christian bishops onto the map. “These indicate regions I believe would offer us an alliance.” She pointed to the black ravens. “These are regions we have already forged an alliance with.” Ceolbert nodded before looking to Eivor who had moved to inspect some pieces of paper, not wanting to interrupt Randvi’s lessons.

“And your role is to secure these alliances?” Eivor nodded and was about to speak when Randvi interrupted.

“Eivor does a great deal for our clan: construction, raiding, hunting and of course making friends with those who would call us foe –”

“I act in my Jarl’s absence Ceolbert. If Sigurd were here, my tasks would be his and I would be free to terrorise this land.” She could feel Randvi’s eyes boring into her but she kept her eyes fixed on Ceolbert. She knew that she had displeased the other woman by downplaying the role she played but she had never been one to bask in glory.

Ceolbert nodded his head in acceptance before something, or more precisely _the lack_ of something, caught his eye. “You are without your sword Eivor.” It was true - she had discarded the weapon after bidding farewell to Ubba and Ivarr, preferring the lightness of her axe to the cumbersome longsword.

“A good eye and a good ear lord. This is my preferred weapon.” She unclipped her father’s axe from her belt and waved it in a series of wide arks, demonstrating how its weight allowed her to move at a greater speed. “In close combat, it is lighter, easier to utilise than the longsword I used against the thegn of Ledecesterschire.”

Ceolbert followed her movements with a keen eye and subconsciously stepped back as Eivor’s weapon continued to move through the air. Like Ceolbert, Randvi was also transfixed by her friend’s movements, unable and unwilling to look away from the deadly dance taking place a few feet from her. She had seen Eivor in battle before but never like this … never had she seen Eivor’s movements so controlled, so measured. It was breath-taking.

“You see Ceolbert? Now you.” Eivor tossed the weapon upwards into the air and deftly caught the sharp blade between her fingers before holding the handle out to the young man. He eyed the weapon much as he had the mead; distrustful but willing to try for the sake of appearances. He stepped forward and clasped the weapon tightly, his fingertips gliding over the metal imbedded in the handle before looking at Eivor and Randvi in astonishment.

“It is remarkably light, almost fragile in its construction.”

“Aye, Gunnar forged it for my father many winters ago.” Ceolbert raised his sword arm as Eivor had done and brought the weapon down through the air at a slower pace before reluctantly handing it back to Eivor. It was a fine weapon; one he would gladly have at his side in the coming days.

“Are weapons usually passed down through the generations in your culture?” Eivor’s expression, once light and carefree became soured as her thoughts drifted to her father. She imagined that her father would have given her his axe if he hadn’t been slaughtered that cold winter's night.

_Another rite of passage Kjotve denied me…_

Randvi knew that Varin and his death was a sensitive topic that often left Eivor in a sullen mood. She remembered the day Sigurd had pulled her aside not long after their wedding to share the story of Kjotve’s attack and she had listened in silent horror as he detailed how Eivor and a few others had survived only because the Gods had wished it so. Hearing the tale spoken in Sigurd’s hushed voice had caused her more pain than she had expected and she had vowed to prevent Eivor’s mind from slipping back to that fateful night as often as possible.

Sensing the inner turmoil Eivor was grappling with she cleared her throat and stepped closer to Ceolbert.

“Not always. A weapon, be it a war hammer or an axe could be gifted by a Jarl or by a friend. “

Eivor felt the iron clad grip on her heart loosen as Randvi’s words washed over her like a balm on an open wound. “Or commissioned if you have the silver.” The amusement in Eivor’s voice helped clear the shadows left behind by her father and she shared a grateful smile with Randvi.

“In our culture, a boy’s first weapon is often gifted to him by their parents or a guardian.” Ceolbert’s fingers lingered above the hilt of his own longsword, gifted to him by Ceowolf when he had been a lowly thegn, uninterested in court politics.

“A curious tradition for a society who fears bloodshed.” The sting of Eivor’s words was dulled by a teasing smile which was eagerly returned by the young aetheling.

“Indeed, perhaps we are not so unalike after all.”

As Eivor gripped Ceolbert’s shoulder and steered him from the musty Longhouse into the fresh air, Randvi couldn’t help but watch them leave. The way Ceolbert looked at Eivor, as if she had hung the moon in the sky, was identical to the way she herself looked at Eivor.

Turning to the table once more, she quickly cleared away the papers she had amassed before rushing after the pair of unlikely friends, determined to share in their joy for a few moments before duty called her back to her table.

\--/--/--

“Again.” Eivor watched Coebert dust off his breeches as he picked up the discarded longsword. She hadn’t intended on giving him a lesson in war-making but he had spotted Dag and a few raiders brawling by the docks and had begged Eivor for a lesson. She dropped into a defensive stance as Ceolbert once again pointed his sword at her midriff and charged with a mighty roar cry on his lips. Like before she waited until the last second before pirouetting on the balls of her feet and driving her fist into Ceolbert’s back, sending him sprawling forward into the dirt.

“Rise Lord, we are not done yet.” A feeble cough was her only answer and for one heart-stopping moment Eivor thought she had seriously injured the young man. Thankfully, and to her immense relief, he slowly rolled onto his back and stared up at the blue sky, his chest falling and rising as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Am I…..Improving…..at ….least?” His cheeks were bright red, sweat had begun to drip down his boyish features and his sword lay a few feet away. Despite the evidence to the contrary, Eivor nodded her head and offered her hand to him.

“You are Ceolbert.

“You are kind Eivor. Ivarr’s lessons were less so.” He rubbed the back of his neck subconsciously; he still remembered the particularly brutal chokehold the Vikingr had placed him in one cold winters morning. If not for Ubba’s intervention he doubted he would have lived long enough to see his father crowned.

Eivor had seen Ivarr’s…unique….training methods up close and as she picked up the discarded sword and handed it to Ceolbert, she vowed to undo the damage he had caused. It would do their alliance no good if Ceolbert died as a result of poor training.

“Eivor tends to lean away from the side she pivots on.” Two pairs of eyes locked onto the red haired woman who had been watching them closely from the shadows. She had been there for some time, watching as a proud mother would watch her children, before feeling a duty to intervene if only to preserve Ceolbert’s pride. 

“Do not listen to her Ceolbert!” Randvi playfully stuck out her tongue as she sat on one of the hay bales left out by Rowan, watching with a keen eye as Eivor continued her instruction.

“You might have more success if you do not announce your attack with a war cry.” She called as Eivor disarmed him with ease. She nodded in agreement before again taking a defensive position, her feet set apart and her fists raised. She had discarded her axe and shield and stood unarmoured against her would-be attacker, something which would have worried Randvi had she believed she was in any real danger. After a few minutes of watching Ceolbert however, she knew that Eivor was as safe as she could be.

“Hold a moment.” It was too painful to watch the youth throw himself into the earth over and over. She cast her eyes around the settlement to check that a certain disgruntled Raider was not within sight before unclipping her robe and walking towards the pair.

“Your instruction with the sons of Ragnor, what did it entail?”

“Mostly getting beaten up.” She had suspected as much. She could not expect the man to be able to anticipate his opponent's moves when his only opponent had beaten him senseless.

“Take a seat young Aetheling, I will fight the Wolf-Kissed.” She could have laughed at Eivor’s shocked expression.

“Randvi…. Is that wise?” A lesser woman would have taken offence at the insinuation that she could not hold her on but Randvi knew that Eivor’s hesitation was out of concern for her welfare, not doubt of her abilities. Still, she rolled her eyes as she unclipped her war hammer.

“Come now Eivor, if we are to instruct the future king in the manners of war, he must know the difference between combat and a predator playing with his food.” Her hand clenched and unclenched around the weapon in her grip as Eivor struggled with her decision. Seeing that she had no option but to spar with the woman, she stepped back into a defensive stance with a furrowed brow.

_Gods forgive me if she gets hurt…_

“No weapon Eivor?”

“No, I can disarm you without my axe.” This cocky attitude was something the clan had come to expect from the Wolf-Kissed but to bear witness to such self-assuredness heated Randvi’s blood. With a calculating stare and determination fuelling her, Randvi struck. Eivor was unused to such aggression from her closest friend and was forced to step back, her eyes widening as Randvi’s war hammer sliced through the air she had been occupying a few seconds before. She had seen Randvi in action; had felt the sting of her hand against her cheek following a tense conversation about Kjotve and she was under no illusion that this woman could best her in a fight given the chance.

A rush of colour in the corner of her eye forced Eivor to lunge to the left, her hand colliding with the earth as she ducked to avoid a punishing blow. She felt the back of her neck burning as she moved around the square she had hastily created, her breath catching in her throat as she watched Randvi like a hawk. She had only a moment to catch her breath before she was dodging again, this time narrowly avoiding a kick to her right knee which would have sent her crashing to the ground.

“You see Ceolbert? She leans to the left when she means to dodge to the right.” As if proving her point, Eivor grunted as the head of Randvi’s hammer collided with her right shoulder, sending a dull throbbing pain down her arm. She heard Randvi’s barely stifled gasp and was quick to flash a reassuring grin at the woman to show she was unharmed. As she watched Randvi’s arm lower ever so slightly (out of concern or shock at landing a blow she did not know) she dropped into a crouch and propelled herself forward, her arms wrapping tightly around Randvi’s waist and tipping them both off balance. She had the sense to move her left hand to the back of Randvi’s head before they fell, absorbing the impact as they crashed to the ground and lay there in stunned silence.

The settlement, Ceolbert, everything seemed to melt away into smoke as Randvi stared up at Eivor, her gaze flickering to the woman’s lips before she hesitantly met Eivor’s blue eyes once more. Time seemed to stop as they lay entwined, neither showing any signs of removing themselves from the embrace. If anything, Eivor held her tighter.

Randvi had often laid in bed at night wondering how it must feel to be at Eivor’s mercy; to feel her weight upon her, to feel her breath against her cheek, As her fingers clenched around the leather of Eivor’s chest armour she realised that the reality was so much better than any dream could ever hope to be.

Eivor peered down at Randvi with terrified eyes as she desperately searched for any sign that she had injured the woman with their fall. She seemed flushed from the fight but otherwise unharmed, so why was it so impossible for her to tear her eyes away from the woman trapped beneath her? She should stand, check that Randvi was uninjured but to do so would mean letting her go. Something she could not bring herself to do, not just yet.

“My god, are you both alright?” Ceolbert’s alarmed voice shattered the spell holding the two women captive and Randvi was barely able to contain a whimper of despair as Eivor’s warmth was wrenched away from her. To have been so close to her had been maddening. She stood on shaking legs and tried to flash a reassuring smile at Ceolbert whose eyes were flitting between herself and Eivor.

“What have you learnt Ceolbert?”

_Learnt….yes …we were teaching Ceolbert…._ Randvi tried to string her thoughts into some form of a sentence but her attempts were in vain; all she could fixate upon was how _good_ Eivor’s weight had felt on top of her.

Ceolbert spoke again. “Never underestimate your opponent.”

“True, but you have also learnt to exploit your opponent’s weakness, even when they do not believe they have one. An arrogant drengr makes for an easy kill.” A sheepish look crossed Eivor’s face at her own words but she found no desire within her to dwell on it. No, she had more important matters to dwell on; the curve of Randvi’s lips for instance….

“My hay! Eivor what has happened?” The three shared an embarrassed look as Rowan stormed towards them, pitchfork held aloft. The hay they had scattered along the ground had done well to absorb their sweat from a hard days training but had also absorbed every speck of mud possible, rendering it useless.

“Peace friend, I will pay for your spoiled hay.” Fishing out a handful of silver coins, Eivor pressed them into Rowan’s hand with an apology on her lips whilst Randvi addressed Ceolbert.

“That is enough for today. Why don’t you place your belongings in the Longhouse whilst I make arrangements for your stay with us?” Randvi waited for Ceolbert and Rowan to leave before hazarding a look at Eivor, her heart breaking as conflict ravaged the younger woman’s face.

“Randvi, are you injured?” She could form no words in that moment. With a shake of her head she pointed to Eivor’s shoulder, worry gnawing at the back of her mind that she may have broken something. A gentle snicker filled the space between them and washed away any concern she had felt.

“A bruise I shall wear with pride. I name you Randvi: Subduer of Wolves.” She tried to ignore the way Randvi’s breath hitched in her throat at the name, unable to bear thinking about what that sound could mean. Randvi was the wife of their Jarl, her brother’s wife. Eivor could never be more than a loyal friend and sister to her no matter how much her heart yearned for more...

“We should discuss Ceolbert – will he sleep in the barracks?”

“Ja, it will be good for him. I will speak with Eydis and make arrangements.” She no longer trusted herself to be in Randvi’s presence without saying words that had long been kept silent. As she walked away from the woman who held her affection more than any other person living, she considered the idea that perhaps one day things would be different.


	3. East Anglia

With a sigh of frustration, Randvi dropped her quill onto her desk and raised a shaking hand to massage her temples. A headache, one that ebbed and flowed as the tide had plagued her all evening and still showed no signs of disappearing. Such annoyances were commonplace for the busy woman and she had grown to expect the jabbing pain whenever she laid eyes on the stacks of paper needing her attention.

It had been close to a month since Eivor had left to forge an Alliance with East Anglia and still she had no sent word of when she would likely return. She had received a note to say she would be staying for a wedding, but no mention had been made of her likely return. The silence was maddening to the point of distraction and it took the majority of Randvi’s self-restraint not to steal a horse from Rowan and ride after the drengr herself if only to erase her fears that Eivor had been delayed for tragic reasons.

She scoffed silently into the cold air as her mind drifted to the last few days; something tragic had befallen their clan. Something which had taken them by surprise and left them in a state of perpetual grief. Her headache worsened as her thoughts drifted to the newly dug burial mound hidden within the trees to the west.

Tarben, the gentle giant of a man had been the one to discover Svend as he performed his morning deliveries. It was clear that the man had departed this realm in the early hours of the morning and a soft smile had graced his features even in death. Tove’s screams of anguish had rattled everyone and it had torn Randvi apart to see such an outpouring of grief.

_I should check on Tove, make sure she is well…._

After their attempts to pull Tove away from Svend’s bedside had failed, Randvi had sent for Valka. The seer had taken one look at Tove before gently steering her towards her hut and forcing a vial of herbs into her hand, assuring her that it would ease her suffering. She had fallen into a restless sleep a few moments later but there was nothing Valka could provide that would numb the pain when the young artist awoke to face a world without him.

Randvi had seen such sorrow only once before. It wasn’t often that she thought of her mother and those terrible, final days, her body ravaged by an illness no one could understand let alone stop. She could still remember the coldness of her mother’s skin as she pleaded with the gods to spare her, the gut-wrenching sobs her father had made when he found them on the seventh day, the hollow warmth she had felt standing by the funeral pyre as its flames licked the evening sky. Such things could never be forgotten nor should they be. Tove would recover a portion of her strength in time but would never be the same.

_I hope wherever you are Svend, you have found peace…_

Slow, measured footsteps approached the chamber causing Randvi to sigh with relief; she would know those footsteps anywhere. As much as it soothed her to know Eivor had returned to them, the duty of telling Eivor of Svend’s passing weighed heavily on her mind. She was unsure how she would react, never having seen the woman cope with grief before. She supposed they were lucky in that death did not plague the raven clan like it did other factions.

“Good day Randvi.” Eivor’s cheerful yet hesitant voice sent shivers running down her spine.

_‘How much do you know Eivor? Do you know that your clan is fractured by loss….._

“Oh, hello Eivor. Good day.” Eivor frowned at the hunched shoulders of her friend. She had seen Randvi weary before but this seemed….different…as if the weight she was carrying was of a harsher nature.

“East Anglia is with us. Their King Oswald has pledged his loyalty to us.” The Good King Oswald had left a lasting impression on the drengr; his resilience, determination and strict adherence to peace had struck a chord deep within her heart. She was not ashamed to say that Oswald had shown her the honour in mercy even if his attempts had ultimately ended in further bloodshed. Still, her clan was safe for the time being, that was something to celebrate at least.

Randvi smiled for the first time in days as she turned to the other woman. “Eivor King-Maker we shall call you soon.” Eivor clasped the dagger and wrestled it free from the wood as Randvi replaced it with a raven. Her movements were slow as if it took a considerable amount of effort to move the wooden raven and Eivor felt her heart quicken in fear.

_Something is wrong…_

Their return from East Anglia hadn’t been met with a crowd at the river’s edge but with a wall of silence. The faces of the clan had been sullen, unsure, so different to the smiles they wore when they had bid farewell.

“Randvi what has happened in my absence?”

A soft sigh left Randvi’s lips as her gaze slipped away from Eivor. She wished more than anything that she did not have to share the news of Svend’s death or even Ceolbert’s departure, knowing that both would leave a mark on Eivor’s already battered soul. Still, to keep the woman in the dark would be a cruel act.

“King Ceolwulf has sent Ceolbert to Sciropescire. He hopes to install him as Ealdorman there.” Eivor was stunned but careful not to show it; the young man an Ealdorman? And now gone so soon after arriving? The fates spun their web in strange ways.

“Good for Ceolbert.” She said with forced enthusiasm. “He should do well, considering all he has learned from you.”

“I gave him only a taste of my knowledge. The rest he will need to figure for himself.” She had spent countless hours fretting over Ceolbert’s safety when he had first left Ravensthorpe, her nights spent worrying that she had not done enough to protect the boy who had found a place in her heart. Eivor smiled reassuringly before fixing her with a soul-searching stare.

“What else?”

“I….I do not know if you heard, but Svend passed away a short time again. The poor man slipped away in his bed.” She forced her eyes to remain on Eivor, cataloging the mixed array of emotions that flickered across her face; anger, sadness, confusion, and finally a regretful acceptance.

“I had not heard, no. And how is Tove? She must be gutted.”

“It has been rough on her. She spends quite a lot of time at his burial mound. Speak with her if you have the time.” A storm cloud appeared to form in Eivor’s eyes as her gaze shifted to the entryway of the Longhouse. She kept silent, her anguished thoughts known only to her before she turned away, unable and unwilling to let her grief be seen by the older woman.

“I should have been here…” The words were whispered into the air but heard clearly by Randvi. She had expected her guilt; for all that she did for them Eivor always believed she should do more. She wasn’t sure if it was her own raw grief or the despair in the woman’s voice but she could not stand by any longer.

“You weren’t to know Eivor.” She brushed her fingers over Eivor’s leather-clad shoulder blades, her breath stilling as she felt the muscles ripple at her touch. “None of us knew.” Words spoken with such conviction did little to erase the pain Eivor felt. No words, no matter how comforting could remove the obligation she had to Svend, Tove, and everyone under the Raven banner. She should have been here.

“I….I will leave you to your work Randvi.” She felt Randvi’s hand still on her shoulder. She did not deserve to be comforted yet she was too tired to deny Randvi when the woman stepped in front of her.

“Eivor, now is not the time for solitude.” Her hand moved slowly from her shoulder, brushing past the sensitive skin of her neck before cupping her cheek. Eivor’s eyelids flutter shut as she leaned into Randvi’s touch, the exhaustion she had felt since landing in England robbing her of any restraint, any resolve to resist.

“Randvi…”

“Shhh.” Her thumb gently caressed the jagged scar on Eivor’s cheek as she found herself leaning closer. “Tove is sleeping, Svend is at peace. Your work is done for tonight.” Eivor’s arms instinctively wrapped themselves around Randvi’s waist and the woman did not resist as she was pulled her closer. This was dangerous; if anyone walked in now she was sure her husband would hear of it and his reaction would surely be…unpleasant. Still she pressed herself against Eivor as she felt hesitant fingers grip the fabric at her waist. They had both suffered terribly for their clan, their pasts marred by personal tragedy and strife, so surely the gods could grant them this one, single, perfect moment?

Eivor sighed as Randvi’s flaming red hair tickled her nose and chin, the scent of lavender consuming her thoughts and offering her a moment of peace. If she were a stronger woman she would leave the chamber, force some distance between the two and mourn her dear friend alone but as she felt Randvi bury deeper into her arms, her breath caressing her neck as she clung to the warrior with what strength she had left, she knew that she could never be strong when it came to Randvi; the woman had chipped away at the stone encasing her heart, taking up residence like the roots of Yggdrasil. Seconds turned into minutes and still neither dared move.

“I should see Tove.”

“She is with Valka.”

A few more moments of silence were enjoyed before Eivor hesitantly spoke again.

“I…I do not remember my parent’s funeral.” Randvi pulled back just enough to look up at Eivor, her thumb continuing to caress her sensitive skin as she watched her become lost in memories.

“I remember Sigurd…he helped me light the pyre when my strength failed….and Gunnar….he crafted a beautiful shield for the offering….” Her voice grew quieter.

“Svend was there. I remember he pulled me aside, offered to design something that would honour my parents….” Her voice cracked as she recalled the kindness he had shown. Even as she grew older and less deserving of it, he had never once been anything but kind. Now he was gone.

“You are not alone Eivor.” Her breath hitched as Randvi’s thumb slipped down her cheek and caressed the scar over her lip. Svend had wanted to cover Eivor’s entire face in tattoo’s just to cover up that tiny scratch and the memory of his furious expression when she had declined forced a laugh from her lungs. Soon the two women were clinging two each other tighter as they laughed at the memory of moments shared with the kind old man.

“Come Randvi, if we are to honour Svend, we will need mead.” With a degree of effort she did not know she possessed, Randvi allowed her hand to slip from Eivor’s cheek as she stepped back. She turned and had managed three steps towards the hall when Eivor hesitantly reached out and clasped her wrist lightly, her fingers slowly moving down until they had intertwined with Randvi’s.

“Thank you Randvi, I would not have the strength to continue if not for you.”

As they walked into the hall both had the sense that something had shifted between them, a tidal wave long kept at bay by duty and obligation now threatened to overwhelm, them yet neither feared it. In the morning, Randvi would suggest a quiet stroll beyond the settlements just the two of them, maybe to the sunken tower she had been told about by Sunniva, but for now no further words were needed, both content to recover their strength together ready for the new dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had plans to make Randvi super jealous about Broder but then I remembered Svend and it became a thing


	4. Lunden

“Did you visit the tower I described Randvi?” The question came after Sunniva and Randvi had concluded their discussion on the recent buildings for the settlement. The red-haired self-proclaimed ‘table-maiden’ stared at the younger woman as panic began to rise with her, her green eyes darkening as she remembered that fateful, agonising day spent with Eivor galivanting across the countryside in search of adventure.

_I had a wonderful day Sunniva. I killed some bandits, found the sunken tower, and kissed my husband’s sister. Shall we discuss the new trade routes?_

Her lips twitched and she struggled to surprise a smile as she imagined Sunniva’s reaction to the description of the day spent around Grantebridge. Despite desperately wanting to discuss her feelings for Eivor with someone, she knew she could never describe how the woman had consumed her waking thoughts let alone share those thoughts with another. Waving aside the question under the pretence of having to answer correspondence, Randvi waited for Sunniva to leave before she reached for the scribbled note she had written months ago in a fit of loneliness and longing.

_It is becoming increasingly difficult to look across the alliance table at Eivor and not think of what could be. I tell myself it is only Sigurd’s absence, but the lie grows thinner, weaker by the day._

The words rang just as true now as they did when they were written, only now when she looked across the table at Eivor her feelings were tinged with bitter resentment; resentment towards a society which had forced her into a marriage to secure peace, a husband who was Jarl in name but not deeds and a woman staunchly dedicated to honour no matter how much pain it caused them both.

She sighed heavily. No, that wasn’t fair. She had seen reflected in Eivor’s eyes the same longing she herself had felt for years. It was not Eivor’s fault they could not be together but this fact did nothing to soothe the sting of rejection. Eivor had approached her the following morning after waking alone with guarded eyes, as if afraid that the woman would refuse to even speak to her. Despite the overwhelming urge to grip the woman’s leather tunic and trail kisses along her heated skin until her reservations melted into the morning sun, she forced herself to listen to the sorrow-filled words falling from the woman’s lips, reiterating that as much as she wanted to divulge their feelings further, she simply could not.

“Randvi? Are you here?”

_Will I ever get a moments peace…._

“Hytham, what is it?” A grave air followed the man as he stepped into the chamber, his dark eyes scanning the surroundings for enemies only he and Basim had the knowledge to recognise. His quiet demeanor had been unsettling for many but Randvi had found a degree of comfort in his guarded nature.

“Has Eivor returned from Lunden?” A question many had asked over the last few days. Eivor’s abrupt departure had stung more than she was prepared to admit. Worry and shame had been a constant companion to the wife of the Jarl with long nights spent searching the dark for signs of the returning warrior.

“You will know sooner than I Hytham.”

“Indeed. I apologise for interrupting Randvi but I am deeply concerned. The Order has penetrated deep into the city and with brutal execution of Governor Tryggr…” The rest of Hytham’s sentence faded into a dull ringing in her ears as Randvi’s mind spiraled into chaos.

_The Governor dead…. murdered in such a barbaric manner…foes hidden in plain sight; their malicious nature unknown to those closest to them….by the gods what have I sent Eivor into?_

“…ndvi…. Randvi are you well?!”

“Hmm? Oh …yes, yes, I am fine. It is indeed troubling.” A strong hand on her shoulder squeezed reassuringly.

“I have seen many warriors in my travels, but none have possessed Eivor’s luck or skill.” His words, meant to calm her fears, did nothing but add to them. Eivor’s skill was unmatched in Norway but the frozen lands were far behind them now; could Odin protect her from the warriors of this tortured, fractured land?

“I shall leave you to your papers.” She barely heard Hytham’s soft farewell as he left as quietly as he had arrived. The papers she had tried for days to focus on lay discarded across the Alliance Map. She picked up the closest letter and scanned the words before letting it fall from her grip, watching in fascination as it gently fell back to its original place.

She could not concentrate on papers or trade routes. Not until Eivor was returned to her unharmed. The sun peeked through the clouds which had shrouded the settlement in darkness and cast a golden hue upon the room.

_A walk to clear my head. Maybe I should visit Valka._

The seer had been one of the first clan members she had met when she had arrived in Fornburg so long ago although the circumstances of their meeting had been less than ideal. As she walked from the Longhouse towards the hidden waterfall, she blushed as she remembered the frank discussion they had about her marital duties. How young and naive she had been to think that lying with her husband would be the hardest trial she would face in their marriage. As she approached the hut Eivor had constructed she found herself drawn to the water's edge. The water was calm and still save for a few ripples caused by the falling Autumn leaves. As she looked down at her own reflection, noticing the new lines around her eyes, she wondered whether Eivor had sat where she stood, her own eyes staring into the murky depths as she reflected on the years that had passed.

“Randvi.”

“Valka.” The Seer stood to her left, waiting patiently as the wind rattled the bones and stones adorning the necklace around her neck. They stood side by side as the sun warmed their shoulders, both lost in their own thoughts.

“What brings you here?”

_Eivor….it is always Eivor_

“Ah I see.” Wide, panicked eyes looked over at the Seer who wore a serene expression, completely unaware of her companion’s inner turmoil. Surely she hadn’t said her thoughts out loud? She wouldn’t have been so foolish… but then again, she had been prone to foolish actions lately.

“Peace Randvi, your thoughts are your own but you wear your emotions plainly.” A blush settled over Randvi’s cheek as she again stared across the water and tried to ignore the way Valka studied her closely. Valka had been gifted with the ability to speak to the gods but she needed no gift or words in her ear to see what plagued Randvi. She had seen the same weight reflected in Eivor’s eyes, had seen it on the night of Randvi and Sigurd’s union and again when she had arrived in England.

“The Wolf-Kissed is favoured by the gods, you know this. Odin will have use for her in the days leading to Ragnarök but he has no use for her yet. She will return.”

“When?” The softly spoken question was drowned out by the sound of the rushing waterfall yet Valka heard it as clearly as if she had shouted at the top of her lungs. She turned and disappeared into the hut, her equally hushed answer of “soon” filling Randvi with a glimmer of hope.

To Dag’s increasing annoyance and to the confusion of the other raiders, Eivor had insisted on travelling back to Ravensthorpe by horse instead of longboat.

“In search of more glory Wolf-Kissed? Does the idea of being in one place offend you?” The barely concealed sneer on Dag’s face had set Eivor’s teeth on edge and she turned to him with a stern expression and clenched fists.

“No Dag, some silence from your mouth is all I require.” Knowing that she would likely pay for that insult, she leapt from the boat into the cold water and swum across to the riverbank before whistling for her horse.

The events of Lunded troubled her deeply; unlike the other regions she had visited, Lunden had been described as a cesspit by everyone she had encountered and yet the town's occupants had taken pride in this fact. It had left her reeling the first time she had heard Stove affectionately refer to Lunden and its people in such a manner and he had laughed deeply at her confused expression before leading her down cobbled streets in search of ale. Even when its people had tried to trap them in a burning church Stove had insisted on mercy. Mercy for the people who acted as they did out of desperation, mercy for those who had killed their Governor, mercy to every living thing in Lunden it seemed.

She had felt no remorse when the time came for her to return to Ravensthorpe but she regretted the violence she had been forced to show as she purged the town of the Order’s influence. As she mounted her horse and urged her into a slow canter, her hand drifted to the pouch at her side which held the three Order seals – Hytham at least would be pleased with her work even if she herself was not.

The nights in England were so unlike the nights in Norway. As her eyes drifted to the dark sky above her she longed for the nights when streams of green would dance above her, guiding her home to Fornburg as the Valkyries guided fallen warriors to Odin’s hall.

It would take her at least a day, maybe two to travel home by horseback not that she minded. She needed time to think on the last month without Dag’s rising anger distracting her.

A soft, mirthless chuckle left her lips as she saw something on the horizon. _The Gods torment me_ she thought as she passed the remains of a Roman tower. It looked similar to the tower at the edge of Grantebridge, rising from the water and towering over the landscape. As she stared through the darkness at the sunken wreck, she was struck with an overwhelming desire to climb it. With her mind made up, she tugged on the reigns and forced her horse forward the final 100 metres before jumping free of the saddle.

She stood with hands on hips as she examined the dark, moss-covered bricks before propelling herself up the wall and beginning her ascent. As her fingers glided over rough stones, she thought back to the day spent with Randvi, how they had spent hours raiding, laughing, drinking… _kissing._

The brick beneath her hand crumbled as if made of clay and Eivor forced herself to lunge upwards, the burns littering her upper body from running through burning churches and charred dockyards protesting at her movements as she continued climbing upwards.

Once certain that she would not fall to an unheroic death, her mind drifted back to the night spent at the tower. The gentle, hesitant kiss they had shared in the dying sunlight was all Eivor had been able to focus on; the pressure of Randvi’s lips against her, the way her hand had felt against her chest, every moment had been perfect and heart-breaking.

Her fingers brushed against the smooth stone and she hauled herself onto the top floor with a grunt of pain slipping past her clenched teeth. She leaned back against what remained of the window arch and stared into the night, the sounds of wolves howling and the gentle lapping of water against the shore lulling her into a state of peace.

_Randvi would like it here…_

She regretted now that she had not allowed them to indulge their feelings beyond that first kiss. It had hurt her deeply to allow Randvi to push away from her with mumbled apologies and embarrassed glances, her heartbreaking as she saw the woman withdraw into herself. She never would have thought that the feelings she held tightly within her heart would be returned and she had longed to tell her how much she wished to take her in her arms, but Valka’s words of prophecy had echoed in her ears and she had been forced to push her feelings aside. She wondered now whether that had been the right decision.

The soft flapping of wings signaled Sunin’s arrival and Eivor watched as the black raven perched on the stone opposite her, his head turned to the wind as if listening for something.

 _Odin had rallied against his fate._ She had said those words with such conviction, certain in her own sense of self that she would never betray her brother. Had she known then that the temptation to do just that would come in the form of a woman she had loved from the moment she saw her, she would have been less sure of herself.

“We shall spend the night here Sunin and travel home in the morning. Dag and Bragi will reassure the clan that I am safe and well.”

It had taken three days of riding before Eivor saw the familiar trees at the edge of the settlement. It would have taken two if not for the drengr she had encountered on her journey and his heart-wrenching plea for aid in burying the last of his warriors. She had helped him gather the wood and light the pyre but there was nothing she could do to help him through his grief except for offering a place within her clan should he ever need it. She hoped to see him again; he had looked like a capable warrior.

“Well, well the wondering warrior returns.”

“Hej Dag.” The man leaned against the side of the stables as Eivor handed the reigns to Rowan, stepping away with a sheepish smile before he could scold her for riding nonstop for so long. She would sneak into the stables and apologise to the mare later that evening but for now, she needed to see Randvi.

The solitude of her journey home had given her time to think, time she had sorely needed to understand how she felt for the woman. Looking back on those precious moments spent together, she had interpreted the haunted look in her emerald eyes as embarrassment but now she was not so sure; if Randvi believed that her feelings had not been returned Eivor would remedy that either through words or deeds.

“I should see Randvi.” Dag grinned with a degree of malice in his dark eyes.

“I would take a shield to protect you for she was not pleased with your absence.” With a final sneer, he left Eivor to her thoughts. Sharing an anxious look with Rowan who had unfortunately seen the fallout of Eivor’s absence she straightened her shoulders and walked towards the entryway of the Longhouse.

Inside all was quiet save the crackle of embers in the dying fire and she cringed as her footsteps echoed loudly on the wooden floor. She peered through the darkness towards the Alliance Room and smiled softly as she saw Randvi frantically scribbling notes on the edge of the map.

“Randvi.” Her name spoken softly into the air caused Randvi to turn in surprise, her eyes widening at the disheveled sight in front of her.

“Eivor…” She crossed the room in three steps and Eivor leaned forward slightly as if expecting the woman to grip her shoulders tightly. Instead, she grunted as Randvi’s palm collided with her cheek, sharp bursts of pain erupting across her reddened skin as Randvi’s harsh breaths filled the air.

“By the Gods Randvi!” She opened and closed her jaw carefully as her hand rubbed at her throbbing cheek before taking a hurried step back as Randvi advanced.

“You were not on the Longship, no one knew where you were! By Thor’s hammer Eivor I thought you dead.” Deep in the back of her mind Randvi knew she was overreacting but the fear she had felt when the Longship docked without its commander was still too fresh. She ran her hands through the knotted remains of her braid as she walked away from the stunned drengr, her fingers plucking at the strip of leather holding her braid together until her red locks tumbled over her shoulder. Ragged breaths filled the space between then as they eyes each other warily, both unsure of what should be said. As the throbbing in her jaw began to subside, Eivor stepped towards the table and gripped the dagger – perhaps news of a new alliance would quell the rising storm of Randvi’s anger.

“Lunden is with us.” She began. “And cleansed of the order.”

“Good. Hytham will be pleased.” The blonde balked at the undertone of Randvi’s words; Hytham would be please, she herself was not. The woman turned away with a huff before storming to her desk where the correspondence she had frantically written over the last three days lay unsent.

 _Perhaps it best if I apologise in the morning_ she thought as Randvi continued staring down at the papers, refusing to acknowledge Eivor’s presence. With a resigned sigh, Eivor turned and left the room, completely unaware of Randvi’s regretful eyes watching her leave.

“Hej my boy.” Mouse slowly approached Eivor and began sniffing around her feet, looking for scraps of food and attention before deciding that the call of sleep was more important. A soft smile pulled at the drengr’s lips as she watched the wolf curl himself into a ball at the foot of her bed.

“At least someone is pleased to see me _._ ” Mouse huffed in reply.

It was too late in the day to approach Hytham with news of Lunden even though she knew he would be delighted to see her. Instead of searching out the nearest barrel of ale, Eivor sat heavily at her desk and placed her head in her hands. The wounds she had picked up in Lunden would need dressing if the tightness across her shoulders and back were any indication. Too tired to care for modesty, she began unclipping the buckles of her armour, the heavy leather falling from her frame and leaving her in her chest wrap. She rolled her shoulders and hissed as the harsh burns, cuts and bruises were exposed to the air. She cringed as tentative fingers poked at her shoulder; in hindsight maybe Stove’s plan would have been better but the idea of fighting through fire had been too tempting to reject.

“By the gods! Eivor, what happened?” She spun on the balls of her feet as Randvi’s horrified voice filled her ears. She watched with bated breath as Randvi’s eyes took in every scratch, burn and bruise littering her torso and arms.

“Ah, tis not as bad as it seems…” Her attempts to shrug off her injuries faded away as Randvi stormed into her room with barely concealed rage and concern clouding her eyes. Mouse glanced up and wisely left from the room leaving Eivor to stare wistfully after him.

_Lucky pup…._

“Some of these need dressing or at the least a thorough cleaning.” Randvi’s voice was closer now. Her hand hovered over a particularly angry looking burn, her eyes narrowing as she imagined just how she had received it.

“I swam in the river – “

“A river? Is that where you’ve been for three days? Swimming through England instead of returning home?” A gentle push at her shoulders forced Eivor to sit at the edge of her bed as Randvi moved around the room, pulling forth a skin of water, a wooden bowl, and some cloth from the chest she had set aside if it was ever needed. The drengr knew better than to interrupt as Randvi gathered her suppliers; the stinging in her cheek had only just disappeared.

“What happened?”

“Lunden happened. A city of rats and fire—”

Randvi interrupted her as she poured water into the bowl. “Now is hardly the time for poetry Wolf-Kissed. What. Happened.” The harshness of her words contradicted the way her fingers gently glided over her arms, both trying to ignoring the goosebumps that erupted across her skin.

“The Order had infested the city. We had removed two heads of the snake when the third arrived with an army. They pillaged the docks, setting fire to churches and boats. Erke, one of the sheriffs led me through the backstreets –” She hissed as Randvi dabbed the soaking wet cloth against the burns of her arms, dragging the material along the line of her bicep before returning it to the bowl.

“The Compass was on a boat at the back of the blockade, taunting me.” Cool water dripped down her arm in ringlets, distracting Eivor from her tale. She felt Randvi inch closer and stifled a groan as she felt the cloth sweep over her chest, cleansing her skin of ash and soot.

“We fought on a burning boat, swords clashing, shields splintering as sparks from Thor’s anvil lit the sky.” Another sweep of the cloth but this time across her shoulders. “Until only I stood standing.”

“Hytham will be pleased.” Randvi muttered as she forced herself to focus on the task at hand and not on the smooth expanse of skin under her fingertips. Had she known that Lunded would leave Eivor half-drowned and half-burnt she would never have agreed to her journey.

“Hmm.” Eivor lapsed into silence as Randvi continued in her work, the water from the cloth slowly darkening as the soot hidden by her armour was cleansed from her aching body. She knew she should be focusing on cataloguing her injuries instead of the way Randvi’s hands caressed her skin but sitting this close to the other woman was becoming unbearable.

As the minutes ticked by, she found herself reflecting on the sunken tower and the words she had spoken that day. She had reflected on those words as she traveled from Lunden, guilt, and longing chipping away at her desire until only a pebble remained to hold back the tide of her love and desire. She whimpered as she remembered how cold the air had seemed when Randvi had stepped from her embrace, how empty her green eyes had appeared as she turned away to gaze at the horizon.

“Is this all worth it?”

“Is what worth it?” The ache in her chest increased tenfold as she waited for Randvi to speak. She watched as Randvi wrung out the cloth before flinching as it passed over her cheek.

“The Order. Is it worth all this anguish to cleanse them from this land?” Randvi’s eyes dimmed with shame as she felt the woman flinch and she swallowed against the lump forming in her throat as she recalled Eivor’s hurt expression.

“I believe it will be in time. It could be that the impact of our work will not be felt by us but by our children.” Randvi had never imagined she would be gifted with a child, certainly not by her current marriage. As she replaced the cloth with the palm of her hand and gently cradled the still tender flesh as she whispered apologies in the woman’s ear, she couldn’t help but imagine children with blonde hair and blue eyes running around under her feet. The image left her breathless.

Eventually, all traces of the battle waged in fire had been cleansed from Eivor’s tired body and the two sat side by side in silence. Eyes met in the growing darkness as Randvi leaned into Eivor’s side, her hands resting against the woman’s collarbone as she thanked Tyr for returning the woman to her side. Unknown to her, a struggle had broken out between Eivor’s heart and mind, a battle she was rapidly losing the longer she remained by the woman’s side. She had known for many winters that Randvi’s marriage had been born of duty, not love, something Sigurd had said on many nights, so why could she not take this one happiness for herself? Would the gods truly hold this against her? 

“I found another sunken tower.” The hoarse tone of Eivor’s voice washed over Randvi as her eyes fluttered close, memories of their tentative kiss forcing her breath to catch in her throat. Her eyes snapped open a moment later when she felt Eivor shift closer, the space between their lips closing with every second. A strangled gasp escaped Randvi’s lips as she felt Eivor lean into her, their foreheads gently touching as Eivor continued.

“It reminded me of the night we spent in Grantebridge.”

“Eivor…”

“How you felt pressed against me…” She suppressed a groan of pain as the grip on her shoulders tightened at her words.

“The warmth of your breath against my skin…” A desperate whimper broke the air as eyes which had darkened with desire gazed up at the drengr, her heart beating wildly in her chest as her words fuelled the desire that now permanently consumed her.

“How your lips felt on mine…” She was so close; only a breath separated them as Randvi’s gaze flickered between Eivor’s lips and eyes.

“The time is not right but it may never be right, not while you are still married to Sigurd. But that does not mean I do not desire this, desire you. I care for you Randvi.” Her heart soared at finally being able to say the words she had longed to say for so long, prophecies and gods be damned. A tentative smile greeted her when she gazed down at the woman in her arms and she felt sure that she had made the right decision.

“Eivor, I want you to know that when Sigurd returns I intend to ask him to sever our marriage bonds.”

“Are you sure? I do not wish to force your hand.”

“I am sure. The love I have for Sigurd is steadfast but I burn for you Eivor, I always have. Even if this cannot be, not right now at least, I need you to know that I will wait for our love, for you.”

Her words lit a spark in Eivor’s heart which had been kept dormant for so long and she could do nothing but lean into Randvi’s embrace.

“Randvi…”

“ _Gods_ Eivor….” The ragged voice breathing her name into the night sent sparks shooting down Eivor’s spine and she was powerless to resist when Randvi surged forward, her lips capturing Eivor’s in a desperate kiss. Unlike their first kiss at the tower neither allowed guilt to interfere. They knew that this indulgence could be only that; a brief embrace to push the cold nights at bay, but as soft sighs filled the room and gentle touches became firmer, it was no longer a question of ‘if’ they could be together, but ‘when’.


	5. Oxenefordscire

_Randvi, my dear wife._

_I trust my note finds you well and Ravensthorpe continuing to thrive in my absence._

_Basim and I have made our way to Oxenefordscire and we are in the company of a noble thegn named Geadric. I am confident that an alliance will shortly follow._

_I beg you to instruct Eivor to join me here at once._

_Sigurd Jarl_

She had read the short letter so many times the words were now permanently ingrained in her mind. Folding the parchment in half and placing it in the letterbox she frowned as she considered her husband’s words. Sigurd had never been one for correspondence but even this attempt was poor by his standards; No enquiries for their bustling settlement or the welfare of ‘his’ clan, not even a loving parting word to the wife he had abandoned. No, if Randvi had ever needed proof that his ambitions overshadowed his duty to the Raven Clan she need only gaze at this hastily written scroll.

Sigurd’s letter had arrived in the early hours of a cold, frostbitten morning and Eivor had reluctantly left her side as soon as the Longboat had been packed with provisions for their long journey. Their farewell had been bittersweet; both longing to whisper sweet words of parting and share one final kiss before Eivor left in search of Sigurd, but Dag had been paying close attention to her ever since she returned from Lunden and neither could risk being discovered. Still, that had not stopped her from watching from the docks as Eivor sailed down the river with her hand raised in a silent farewell and a prayer on her lips.

_Please come back to me my love…_

“Ahh it will not be long now until your husband and our Jarl is returned to us at long last!” Dag said as he appeared at her side. To everyone’s surprise, he had elected to stay behind, choosing to spend his days drinking and filling the air with stories of his many ‘victories’ rather than sail with Eivor.

“Your husband will surely reward me for the glory I have brought our Clan!” Randvi doubted Sigurd would even care let alone attach any merit o Dag’s lies; he would likely be more concerned with his own triumphs and victories than that of his closest friends. She forced a serene smile onto her face as she bid farewell to the man who was completely oblivious to her growing distaste towards him.

Her thoughts drifted to the man she had married so long ago as she walked through the settlement and what his return would mean for their clan. Things would be different; the harmony the clan had found in this cluster of trees would surely be shaken by Sigurd’s attempt to find his place again and she did not even want to think about the impact his return would have on her relationship with Eivor.

She had meant what she had said that night; she would wait for Eivor’s love even if that meant waiting for years. As she returned to her chambers and pulled the cloak Eivor had gifted her so long to her chest, she knew she would wait until the wolf devoured the sun and the earth split open at the coming of Ragnarök if it meant she could call Eivor hers.

\--

The weeks had passed slowly as she waited for Eivor, Sigurd and Basim’s return, her mood darkening as each new day brought a lack of news. In the years since their arrival in England, Randvi had grown accustomed to waiting and had even developed a type of fondness for the simple act of standing by the water’s edge and searching for green sails on the horizon. It afforded her a rare moment to contemplate the decisions she had made and the experiences she had been fortunate enough to endure but as she looked past the trees into the darkness, she was struck instead by just how lonely the settlement had become. It was as if the very reason for her happiness had been wrenched from her side, stolen away by the man they were both bound to.

She suspected that Hytham felt the same way. Basim had appeared as a father figure for the younger man and she had often stood shoulder to shoulder by the waters edge with Hytham as the hours passed them by in silence, before one of them turned away from the water with a heavy heart. If they did not return soon, she feared they never would.

“What preparations have been made for Sigurd’s return? We should throw a great feast, one fitting such a glorious day.”

“Sigurd has not sent word of his return. Any preparations would surely go to waste if he were to spend another winter away.”

A displeased grunt was all she received in reply as Dag stumbled past in search of his next drink. Realistically, she knew he had a point. Sigurd’s return, if he did return this time would require a celebration to rival the feast thrown by Stybjorn so long ago and for that, they would need supplies.

Her parchment and quills were housed inside the Longhouse but the thought of returning to that empty building left a vile taste in her mouth. Instead, she decided to visit Hytham and walked the short distance to the Hidden One’s bureau. With three quick taps against the archway, she stepped into the musty hut. Her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkness.

“Randvi, a pleasure.” Hytham muttered as he unfurled a scroll from the table. She did not take offence at the lack of interest in her presence, knowing that his short response was borne from concentration rather than agitation. Not wanting to interrupt his reading she busied herself with looking around the small building, her eyes scanning over the maps decorating the walls. They were identical to the maps in her own possession but whereas her ravens marked possible alliances, his marked potential targets.

“Has Basim written lately?”

Hytham placed the scroll on the table and reached for the paper he had been scrutinising since its arrival.

“He has.” He handed the paper to Randvi and waited for her to finish reading it. “He speaks highly of Sigurd and their new alliance, although he does not mention Eivor in as much detail.” That wasn’t surprising; Randvi had sensed a tension between the two fighters since the day Eivor had received the hidden blade from Sigurd and she prayed to Tyr that this tension did not evolve into something more…dangerous.

“Basim seems to think they will return by the next moon.” She muttered to herself before returning his letter. “We will need supplies to welcome our Jarl home.”

“Of course.” Hytham was secretly grateful for the distraction and he reached for a blank piece of paper before sitting beside Randvi. They spent the better part of an hour compiling a long list of items they would need and as she scribbled _deer x 3_ at the bottom of the paper, her mind drifted back to the last feast they had held in his honour. When Sigurd had returned from his travels abroad, he had insisted that he not be given anything that would not be given to a thrall. She wondered now whether he would have the same attitude - only time would tell.

“Thank you for your company Hytham, I will leave you to your work.”

“Go in peace Randvi.”

With her list in hand, Randvi began making plans to speak to Petra and Tekla as a priority; a feast without meat and mead was a sorry sight and Sigurd and Eivor deserved a return worthy of the gods.

\--

When Eivor would look back on these trying days spent chasing stones and betraying oaths, this moment would stand out in her memory above all others, the fear still palpable despite the months that passed. She watched with dread rising in her heart as Fulke, the woman who had ensnared her brother with honeyed words fell to her knees before King Aelfred.

“Paladin Fulke? Are you with this company?” Breaths stilled in throats as the three of them waited for her answer.

“I was, my lord. To recover from Eadwyn what was mine by right.” Fulke stood and turned to stand beside Aelfred whose eye’s narrowed in intrigue as the Paladin continued.

“Sigurd is the only man you need. He’s worth more than twenty other men. He is the son of a king.”

“Traitorous snake!” Eivor was too consumed with rage to flinch as her brother’s voice split the air. The woman Fulke turned back to Aelfred but Eivor knew she was enjoying this turn of events, delighting in having tricked the siblings with her tales of gods and obtaining wisdom by staring at stones.

“And his heresies are profound, my lord. He claims to be a living god.”

“I’ll gut you troll-woman!”

“Shush!” Sigurd’s arms against her chest was the only thing keeping Eivor from tearing Fulke apart. She looked across at Basim who stared back at her with confusion and surprise marring his usually calm expression. She felt Sigurd push her backwards and she stumbled.

“I’ll gift myself to you, King Aelfred, ‘cause it is not my fate to die by your hand.”

“Brother!” She cursed the noticeable tremble in her voice; fear for the safety of her brother clouding her judgement as she stepped forward only stopping when Sigurd stared at her with guarded eyes. It was a look she had seen before when she had been much younger and it spoke the same words then as it did now;

_Do not fear, we will meet again_

But this time Eivor picked up another meaning behind his cold eyes:

_I am still your Jarl, obey me._

“Have faith that the Lord God watches over you all.” Aelfred rose with clasped hands as his war thegn approached Sigurd.

“This man is dangerous, my lord. Let me hold him.” Eivor strained to hear Aelfred’s response and her heat sank lower in her chest when she heard him agree to Fulke’s request.

“Do what you must. But treat him with care.”

Eivor growled low in her throat as she watched helplessly as Sigurd was led away with his wrists bound in rope.

“By all the gods, Basim, what was that?”

“I will shadow them. They shall not get away.” Basim slipped from the tent and left Eivor alone with unanswered questions a silent terror.

_Damn this cursed land…I will cut your throat Fulke if you harm my brother._

She wanted to follow Basim as he pursued Fulke and Sigurd but she knew she would be no help; her rage was too overpowering for her to think rationally. No, she would return home to Ravensthorpe and pray to all the gods that Basim would call for her soon.

\--

“Randvi? RANDVI!” Eivor’s shouts echoed through the settlement as she leapt from the longboat without a backwards glance, her furrowed brow and rage-filled eyes a warning to those who would approach her to think again. Even Dag had the presence of mind to stay away from the Wolf-Kissed as she stormed towards the Alliance Room.

The journey had been long and difficult. She had pushed her raiders to breaking point, forcing them to row through the nights in a desperate attempt to reach Ravensthorpe before Basim had time to send a message; she wanted to be ready the moment he called with her axe sharpened and shield strengthened.

“Eivor? What is it?” The day’s events had left the woman exhausted and she had been resting her eyes when Eivor’s shouts had wrenched her from the edge of the dreamworld and sent her running into the hall with her heart pounding in her chest. The blonde surged past Randvi towards the Alliance map and glared at the ink drawn borders surrounding Oxenefordschire; somewhere in this fractured expanse of land, her brother lay at the mercy of the witch Fulke. A hesitant had on her arm brought her back from spiralling words and she leaned into her touch; she was so very tired.

“Randvi. Our work is done in Oxenefordschire, but the cost has been high.” The cost had been unbearable; an alliance forged but her brother gone…

“I feared as much when this letter arrived. From one called Fulke, addressed to you.”

Randvi flinched as Eivor pushed herself away from the table with enough force to topple two ravens from their positions over Jorvik and Sciropescire.

“From Fulke? Gods that witch!” Shaking hands ran through windswept hair; the woman had the nerve to write to her? She had killed for less.

“It is there on the table…” Randvi bit her bottom lip as she watched Eivor dash towards the table and wrench the letter from the box it had been kept in for safekeeping, her eyes scanning the words as her expression darkened with every passing second. She had never seen Eivor this unhinged; she had seen her worried, frightened even but never like this.

“Fulke is with the order of the ancients. The same order Kjotve followed. The order that Basim and Hytham have pledged to destroy.” An uncomfortable discovery to make but not one to spark such rage in the woman. She glanced behind her expecting to see Sigurd leaning against the frame of the archway, only the archway was empty with no sign of their Jarl. Dread began to consume her as she waited for Eivor to return the crumpled letter to her desk.

“Eivor, what has happened?” Eivor met her gaze but kept silent; she could not bear to say the words Randvi deserved to hear lest the woman shun her for failing to return their Jarl.

“Answer me Eivor.”

“Sigurd has been taken hostage.” She forced the words out through gritted teeth as she stared into the distance. “Captured by King Aelfred and given to a woman named Fulke. A very dangerous woman.”

“What does she want with him?”

“I will spare you Fulke’s ramblings, but know this…Sigurd did his part to secure an alliance with a thegn called Geadric. Geadric is an honest man and will come when I call. Until that time, Basim will locate Fulke. Look for his message when it comes.”

The two lapsed into an uncomfortable silence; neither knowing what to say as they each imagined what horrors Sigurd would be forced to endure. It was clear that the events that had unfolded over the last few days weighed heavily on Eivor’s mind but the grief was still too raw for her to share exactly what had happened, despite Randvi’s desire to probe further.

“Have…have you eaten?” Eyes flickered to Randvi before darting away, unused to someone taking such an interest in her wellbeing. She did not deserve such kindness, least of all from the woman she had failed so miserably.

“…No.”

“Come then, the deer we prepared for…” She trailed off as a harsh breath left Eivor’s lungs as the full weight of her unfinished sentence hit her like a bull; the clan had expected Sigurd home. They had made preparations which would now go to waste…because she had failed.

She had failed her brother the moment she found him hiding in the fish hut on the outskirts of the town. Would the outcome have been different if she had believed his wild ramblings of visions and being of a higher power instead of dismissing them out of hand? Had she managed to get him alone for an hour or so, could she have convinced him to abandon his path?

These thoughts of what if’s and maybes flashed through her mind in a blink of an eye. She did not look up as Randvi approached with apologies tumbling from her lips nor did she react when Randvi’s fingers caressed her cheeks, trying to pull her back from a place she could never see.

“Please Eivor… look at me…come back to me darling.” Whispered words of comfort did little to break through the cloud of self-loathing that had firmly encased Eivor in its icy grip and Randvi could only watch helplessly as Eivor slipped from her embrace and left without a word.

\--

_Thump… Thump… Thump…Thump…_

The rhythmic sound of the axe striking its target could be heard by everyone as they prepared for another cold winter’s evening. No one knew the cause of Eivor’s foul mood least of all Gunnar who had been stoking the fire of his forge in preparation for having to sharpen Eivor’s weapon.

True to form a shadow passed in front of him and he greeted Eivor with a smile and wide arms. She held the weapon in front of her and smiled sheepishly at his look of disapproval.

“I…the blade has become dulled –”

He scoffed at her excuse. “Throwing it against wood will cause that you know.” He took the weapon and held it to the sky, the moonlight reflecting off the blade as he searched for imperfections. Satisfied that the weapon was just as perfect as the day he had forged it (in his humble opinion) he grabbed his whetstone and prepared to begin his craft with renewed enthusiasm.

“Sigurd not with you?” He dragged the stone across the steel as he waited for Eivor to respond.

“No…he is…still in Oxenefordscire.” She did not wish to lie to him but the thought of more people finding out about his absence terrified her. Besides, she reasoned with herself, technically Sigurd _was_ in Oxenefordscire she just didn’t know where exactly. The guilt which had been her companion tightened its grip on her chest and left her breathless.

“Hmmm may the Gods bless us with his presence soon.”

“What if they don’t?” Her voice sounded small to her own ears; timid, unsure of itself. The sound of stone meeting steel stilled for a moment before resuming its path.

“They will, you will see to that. Sigurd may wander far but he always returns home.”

“He may not be the same man he was before he left.”

The blacksmith scoffed; it seemed Eivor was in a poetic mood tonight. “Do any of us remain unchanged after a long journey? Did you yourself remain the same when you slew that bacraut Kjotve?” Her lips twitched at his analogy; she had felt reborn when the honour that had stained her family was lifted from her shoulders but her journey had been forged by her own desires and actions; the journey Sigurd now faced was not of his own design. 

“There.” He handed her the freshly sharpened axe and she took it gladly, its weight in her hand a familiar comfort.

“I do not know what has happened to keep Sigurd from us but I know you little drengr.’ His eyes shone in the dark as he looked upon her as a father would look upon their child. ‘You will return him to us, of this I have no doubt. Now!” He clapped his hands together which earnt him an earful from Guthran who had the misfortune of walking past them at that moment. “Unless you want to be put to work –”

Eivor backed away with hands raised as she walked towards the Longhouse with a lightness to her steps. There did not exist a world where she did not free her brother from Fulke’s grasp, where she did not cut down every Saxon that separated her from him. Basim would write and she would answer his call, she would save Sigurd.

She felt her steps become heavier the closer she came to her waiting bed, exhaustion seeping into her bones and slowing her pace. She had not slept since leaving Oxenefordscire and it took all her strength not to collapse on the floor and sleep as she had done in Grantebridge. She paused at the threshold of her chambers and recalled those happy days when her biggest worry was which weapon she would carry into her next battle. It was in this contemplative silence that she first heard the sound of supressed sobs and she bolted towards the Alliance room with her axe raised, ready to strike down any foe which dared hurt the woman she had come to cherish.

At the sight of Randvi’s tear-stained cheeks, she allowed her axe to fall from her grasp and crash to the floor, not giving it a second thought as she dropped to her knees by Randvi’s bed.

“Randvi? What is it? What makes you weep?” The kindness in Eivor’s voice wrenched another sob from Randvi’s lips as she stubbornly wiped at the tears still clinging to her eyelashes. Eivor had never seen Randvi cry before and she was filled with an uncontrollable rage to find the person who had caused her tears and send them to Helheim. She caught Randvi’s hand in hers and brushed her thumb over her knuckles as she waited patiently for the woman to meet her gaze. Eventually, emerald eyes met blue and Eivor’s heart broke further as tears slid silently down Randvi’s cheeks.

“Please Randvi…did I…is it by my actions that you are upset?” Randvi shook her head but that only made more tears slide down her cheeks. Eivor could bear it no longer. Quickly shedding her winter armour and kicking her boots to the other side of the bed, she carefully sat beside Randvi and opened her arms, inhaling the scent of parchment and lavender as Randvi pitched forward into her embrace. Her slight frame shook with the force of her sobs and all Eivor could do was hold her tighter and whisper fragments of half-forgotten stories until her sobs began to subside.

“I…I …”

“Peace Randvi, I know why you cry so.”

“You – you do?”

“Yes. I failed to bring your husband back to his home and so have failed you.”

“No!” The force of her denial startled Eivor. To see the drengr so tormented by guilt stirred something with Randvi, a need to share in her burdens and confess the awful truth she had tried to suppress all evening.

“I….do not weep because you did not return with our Jarl. I weep because he is missing …”

Eivor made to move away from the woman before she could break her heart further with words that spoke of her failure when Randvi launched her full weight at Eivor, knocking them both backwards onto her bed until Randvi hovered over her.

“And I am _relieved.”_

_“_ Relieved?!” She tried to sit up but it was made harder by Randvi’s weight pressing down upon her.

“Yes! Relieved that it was not you captured. Relieved that you have returned to me unharmed and in one peace. I am sickened that this woman would take Sigurd from us, but …. Gods Eivor if he had returned _without you_ …”

She struggled against the lump in her throat, determined to free the words which were straining to be spoken. “My tears are caused by my own cowardice and dishonour for I am a terrible wife for thinking such things.” A sob ripped from her throat as the full weight of her words hit them both. Eivor, stunned by such a revelation could do nothing but let her cry for a few moments longer before she decided on a course of action that would soothe them both. Her hands slipped over Randvi’s shoulders and along the curvature of her spine before coming to rest at the curve of her lower back, her fingers caressing the soft skin through the woman’s thin tunic before she rolled them so she was now above Randvi.

“Look at me Jarlskona.” The use of her title snapped Randvi out of her grief long enough for Eivor to distract her further with a gentle kiss which stole the breath from her lungs.

“If you are a coward then I am equally so.”

“Eivor stop, this is not your fault- “

“Please Randvi, let me speak.” The woman fell silent as Eivor leaned backwards and allowed Randvi to sit up slightly.

“There was a moment when Sigurd was negotiating our withdrawal from Oxenefordscire. Aelfred suggested an exchange of warriors, a sign of good faith.” She paused, testing the words in her mouth before forcing herself to continue.

“Sigurd looked at me as if waiting for me to offer myself for this exchange but I…. I did not. I kept silent, unable to fulfil my role as his prized warrior because…because I did not wish to be anywhere but by your side.”

Randvi felt a shiver run through her body as her eyes widened in realisation: Eivor had chosen her above honour, above her duty to Sigurd, above _everything._

“Does this displease you Randvi?” Eivor could not help but wonder whether her admission of cowardice would change the way Randvi looked at her, whether the woman’s belief that she could return Sigurd to their side was now damaged beyond repair.

She stiffened as tentative fingers reached upwards to run down Eivor’s cheeks before she leaned into her touch with a sigh of relief.

“My love…how could your wish to be safe in my arms ever displease me?” Relief washed over them both as they fell into an easy embrace, desperate kisses soothing the guilt they both felt until Eivor reluctantly pulled back.

“I worry for him; you did not see the way Fulke looked at him.”

“Will you tell me what else was said?” Eivor wanted to… _desperately_ …but she did not understand it herself; how her brother had appeared mad with lust over an outlandish idea that he was greater than the gods themselves, how he trusted the judgment of a stranger over his own family. It had been maddening.

“In time, but for now let us sleep. Tomorrow we will talk of plans for his return.” It was a conversation they would need to have but neither had the energy tonight. Instead, Randvi reached over and blew out the last remaining candle and pressed herself closer to Eivor’s side, her breath caressing the skin of her neck as strong arms circled her waist. She wished that she could remain in Eivor’s arms for the rest of her days but guilt over Sigurd’s absence had already begun to take root in the corners of her heart, filling her with a quiet terror that these moments with Eivor could only ever be fleeting.

The feeling of Eivor’s lips against her temple helped quiet such traitorous thoughts and she allowed her exhaustion to drag her into a heavy sleep, certain in the knowledge that, no matter what befell them, her love for the woman would never diminish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't overly satisfied with how this chapter turned out but I wanted to explore the idea that both Randvi and Eivor felt an element of guilt after the events of Oxenefordscire - plus it sets up the next few chapters nicely!


	6. Sciropescire

Sigurd’s continued absence hung over the village of Ravens like a storm cloud, fear and worry resting heavily on the minds of its occupant as days turned to weeks with no word.

Dag had pounced on the undercurrent of fear rippling through the Longhouse with a wolfish smile and cruel words dripping from his lips, loudly proclaiming to anyone foolish enough to listen that every bad thing that had befallen them was Eivor’s fault.

His first outburst had been dismissed out of hand but as the nights began to lighten and the days passed with no word, a small fraction of people began to wonder if Eivor really did know something. Still, the clan trusted her judgment, certain in the knowledge that if something had happened, she would tell them in due course.

“The Wolf-Kissed keeps us in the dark on purpose! If I were Jarl in Sigurd’s absence, you know I --.”

“Shut up you drunken fool.” Bragi snapped. The raiders had grown weary of Dag’s voice muttering lies in their ears with several now understood why Eivor had insisted on traveling to Sciropescire alone. It was not a supported decision; they each remembered the young aetheling and would have gladly raised an axe in his defense but Eivor had refused, choosing to travel the winding roads by horseback rather than Longship.

Eivor had resisted traveling to Sciropescire for days after the summons had arrived via Randvi’s scouts, her mind so fixated on Sigurd that she had been willing to ignore King Ceolwulf’s request in favour of waiting for Basim. It had been Randvi’s voice whispering in her ear that should Basim write she would send for Eivor, that had convinced the drengr to leave just as the sun peaked over the green hills.

She had wanted to bid farewell to her from the docks as she had in the past but Eivor had stilled her movements with a gentle kiss.

“Rest my love.” She had whispered from the archway, her eyes sweeping over Randvi’s tussled hair and sleep-filled eyes a final time. “I will not be gone long, two weeks if Ivaar does not cause trouble.”

“Be safe Eivor.” Her words forced a sad smile from the blonde warrior before she had fled into the new dawn, determined to return as soon as possible.

Two weeks had turned into three yet Eivor remained absent. Randvi refused to let herself imagine the worst; Eivor had a history of returning later than she had planned, often appearing in the archway with a sheepish smile and countless cuts and bruises.

“Randvi?”

“Sunniva? What it is?” The young raider approached with a hollow look in her eyes and Randvi’s heart stopped.

“What is it? What has happ-“

“Eivor is fine!” Sunniva blurted the words out in a panic. She didn’t pretend to understand the relationship between the drengr and the Jarlskona but she had learnt to always reassure Randvi of Eivor’s safety before delivering her reports. As Randvi sat heavily at her desk with a shaking hand covering her eyes Sunniva began to understand their relationship a little better, she only hoped neither of them got hurt.

Randvi said a silent prayer of thanks to Freyja before looking to Sunniva with trepidation.

“We have received a report from Sciropescire. They have dethroned the King of the Brits but at a cost.”

“What cost?”

Sunniva looked down at the piece of paper clenched in her hands, her throat bobbing as she tried to form the words. “Ceolbert. He was killed, we do not know how or even why, but Eivor and Ivaar were with him until the end. He did not die alone.”

Randvi nodded slowly as if her mind had already accepted the words her heart refused to believe before her eyes landed on the letter he had sent after he had left to take up his new position. To imagine that charming young man, with eyes wild and a mind full of ideas now lying in his church’s crypt with his sword across his chest left her weak with grief.

“Leave me.” She would apologise for her tone in the morning but for now, she needed silence, space to grief the life of a boy who would never grow to be a man. She looked up as Sunniva gently squeezed her arm. “We grieve with you Randvi. If you need me, I will be in the barracks.”

Her footsteps faded into the quiet as tears welled in emerald eyes, stubbornly refusing to fall no matter how much she wished they would. She was no stranger to death. In their culture it was celebrated, revered, and even desired but Ceolbert had been a young man with his life ahead of him. He had a purpose, a voice, but that voice had been cruelly silenced by the flick of a coward’s blade. She would get the full details from Eivor when she returned - she needed to know how he met his end even if knowing did nothing but add to her misery.

\--

Eivor’s brow was heavy, her steps slow but measured as she walked through the forests surrounding their settlement. She had arrived when the sun was just rising over the horizon but now it was high in the sky, its warmth a stark contrast to the ice that had seeped into her bones and taken up a permanent residence.

She stopped under the branches of a pine tree and inhaled the scent of the forest. _Ceolbert would have liked this_ , she thought. _He had always seemed more comfortable in nature than in an English Court._

She sat under the tree and leaned against the bark, flinching away from the beams of sunlight that filtered through the leaves to land on her upturned face. The trees in England were so different from the trees in Norway, not weighed down by snow or beaten back by harsh winds, but then, everything was different in this land. Had she known Ceolbert in the world she had left would she have been so distraught over his murder or would she have simply accepted his death as another casualty of court politics?

If they were in Norway his funeral pyre would have risen high into the sky, his body surrounded by fine weapons and tokens of love. Instead, he now lay encased in stone with nobody to sing his name or tell stories of his conquests. For a God so beloved, she just couldn’t understand how he could allow his children to pass from this life in such coldness.

“When Petra mentioned an animal stalking through the settlement, I had expected a boar not a wolf.” A dry chuckle left Eivor’s lips as she looked up at Randvi. The woman wore a quiver of bows at her belt but Eivor’s eyes were fixated upon the bow clenched tightly in her grip. She raised her hands in mock surrender which earnt an eye roll from the would-be huntress.

“Do you intend to shoot me Randvi?”

“I should.” She slipped the bow over her shoulders before sitting by Eivor’s side. “For making me worry for your safety.” In truth, she had known it was Eivor the moment Petra had approached her. This area of the forest had been infested with dangerous animals and was avoided by everyone but Eivor. The two lapsed into silence before Eivor confirmed what she already knew.

“We are allied with Sciropescire, but at a…. grievous cost. Young Ceolbert was killed.” Silence followed Eivor’s words only broken by a heavy, defeated sigh escaping Randvi’s lips.

“Yes, my scouts told me. Such a tragic death for so dubious a gain. I hope you paid his killers back in kind.” She had no doubt that Eivor would have sent whoever did this to Helheim but Eivor felt the need to confirm this.

“Justice was done.” Ivaar had died a coward, something she had kept hidden from Ubba when he demanded answers. She prayed that he would never learn of her deceit.

“Ceolbert will be remembered. He was good company; in the short time he was with us.”

“He was.”

They remained side by side as they watched the sun travel across the sky, it’s path steadfast and unchanging. 

“Has Basim written?” Randvi’s eyes closed at Eivor’s hesitant question. She had received no word or indication that Sigurd had been found or that he was even alive.

“No but he will.”

“Hmm.”

“I…I received a letter from King Ceolwulf.” She had remembered opening the scroll with her brow furrowed as she read his grief written words. Had it been her child murdered she doubted she would have had the strength to offer comforting words to those he spent only a short time with.

She watched as Eivor reached towards a branch which had fallen from the tree above her, her eyes following the warrior’s movements as she ran the tip of her finger along the rough wood.

“I should visit him.” She gripped the twig and snapped it in half. “Tell him how his son met his end. How brave he was…” He had been brave; she had seen warriors screaming to the Gods with less severe wounds than the one Ceolbert had received. It was his bravery in the face of his death which had chilled her the most. There had been no hesitation in his eyes, no fear in his face as he had accepted his fate and waited in the clearing of the war camp for the inevitable. The absolute certainty reflected in his gentle smile that he would soon be with his God was the only comfort she had drawn from that day.

“Stupid boy…” A surge of rage-filled her as she throw the branches into the brush. Why had he not waited? Why had she let him leave her sight? As quickly her anger emerged it disappeared, leaving her empty save for the dull throbbing in her chest which showed no signs of abating. Randvi forced herself to stay silent despite longing to jump to Ceolbert’s defence. She hadn’t been there; she had no right to comment on whether his actions had been foolish or whether his death could have been avoided. All she could do now was honour the man he had become in life, however short that had been.

“Stand up Eivor.”

“Why?”

Randvi shrugged. “The ground is cold.”

She pulled herself to her feet and looked down expectantly. After a few sullen moments, Eivor forced her feet beneath her and slowly stood before escorting Randvi back through the trees towards the bridge leading to the settlement.

“Wait!” Randvi stumbled over a tree root as Eivor’s shout echoed through the forest and if not for Eivor’s arm reaching out to steady her she would have fallen. Her angry glare was met with a whispered apology.

“I want to go fishing.”

“Fishing?”

“For eels.”

“…You do not like eels. Or fishing.”

If Eivor was surprised that Randvi knew something so insignificant about her she tried not to show it. Instead she reached for Randvi’s hand and dragged her towards the babbling brook, only allowing her grasp to lessen when they came close enough to the settlement that they could be discovered.

“I do not think we will find much fish here Eivor, let alone eels.” Eivor scoffed as she pulled the fishing rope from around her waist, trusting that Njörðr would provide for her.

She cast the hook into the water below and waited with bated breath for any fish to take the bait. Her eyes narrowed in concentration as she stared at the water, her fingers twitching with every ripple until finally, she yanked the rope skywards before pulling it towards her steadily.

Randvi had been tempted to leave her to it; she detested fishing but even she couldn’t deny the glimmer of excitement she felt when she watched Eivor drag the small bass onto dry land.

“Ah. Not an eel.” Taking pity on the animal, she picked it up gently before letting it slide from her hands back into the water. A disgruntled sound to her left had her smirking back at Randvi.

“An eel is what I require dear Randvi.”

“Why?” If she sounded frustrated it was because she was. She was certain Arth would have mentioned if eels were common to the river near them but any attempts to remind Eivor of this was met with stony silence.

It was only after Eivor had caught another bass and two small trout that she was willing to accept defeat. Randvi had expected Eivor to appear frustrated at her failure but she had not expected her to look so _devastated._

With little care for the settlement she pressed herself against Eivor’s back and wrapped her arms around her stomach, her lips gently caressing the back of her neck as she spoke gentle words of comfort.

“Tis not that Randvi.” Eivor turned in her arms and pinned her with a stare that spoke of hardship and guilt. It was a look Eivor had worn for weeks and her growing fear that she would forever wear such a look terrified Randvi with each passing day.

“Ceolbert he…he made eel soup before he... I thought I could…should...” She groaned in frustration as the words she wanted to speak plainly became lodged in her throat. “…His Christian beliefs are strange. There was no roaring fire to send him to his God, no feast in his honour…just…” Her words died on her lips as loving fingers slipped through her blonde hair, teasing the strands from her braid before tugging lightly. Her actioned earner her a displeased look which she answered with a gentle smile.

“I will speak to Arth. It is a nice thought my love.”

A nice thought indeed but that was all it was. Ceolbert deserved more than thoughts but she could do nothing but make these small gestures in the hopes that wherever he was, Ceolbert would know he was missed dearly.

\--

“I remember when I first saw the little twig!” Ale sloshed over the rim of her drinking horn as Eivor stalked the space between the tables, her commanding presence silencing the last dregs of conversation as faces turned to her.

“He was tiny, so tiny I feared I would lose sight of him in the weeds. His sword was taller than him.!” Those lucky few who had been with Eivor when they met the sons of Ragnar confirmed her description by banging their horns against the table.

“He had no desires for battle, no dreams of dying with a blade in his hand. He only wanted peace; peace for his people and his father.” She tripped over the edge of the fur covering the floor to the clan’s enjoyment but she ignored their laughter, determined to continue her tribute no matter how much the room was spinning.

“But he grew on me. Our final battle was spent fighting side by side but while I prayed to Thor for strength, he prayed to his God for forgiveness. He was brave, humble, compassionate, all the makings of a fine man. He would have made a good Ealdorman and ally to our clan. To Ceolbert!” She shouted his name as she raised her horn in celebration of this short life.

“Skal!”

Mead horns were emptied in a matter of seconds as a mighty cheer which surely would have been heard by their Gods erupted from drink addled lips. Her empty horn was immediately filled by Bragi; he too had taken a shine to Ceolbert despite only seeing him from afar.

“A fine speech Wolf-Kissed.”

“He was a fine man.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur of drunken challenges, mead, and laughter, culminating in a frantic dash to Tekla’s brewery when the ale barrels ran drive. It had been a long night of drinking but one that had been sorely needed.

“Randvi…” A hesitant voice broke the silence causing Randvi to look back at the drengr sprawled across her bed. Somehow, she had managed to convince Eivor to retire for the night but it had not been an easy feat to remove her clothes, not when Eivor insisted on teaching Mouse to play fetch. Eventually, the effects of the alcohol became too much for her to suppress and she had fallen into a restless sleep, or so she had thought.

“Yes, my love?”

“I do not think I like eels…”

Her eyes shone with adoration. “I know my love.”

Eivor nodded slowly before her eyes fluttered closed and she slipped into a deep sleep. Randvi wanted nothing more than to climb into Eivor’s embrace but she knew such things would no longer be possible, not now that Basim had written. As shaking fingers caressed the edge of the paper which had been handed to her by Hytham during the night’s festivities, she feared what the next few weeks would bring; both for the clan and for her growing relationship with Eivor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss Ceolbert! I wanted to try and add a bit of light-heartedness to this chapter in preparation for the next chapter which is gonna be dark and angsty :)


	7. Cent

Eivor hadn’t been able to tear herself away from the crypt beneath Canterbury Cathedral for hours, stubbornly refusing to move from her crouched position in front of the chair littered with sharp metal spikes; spikes which had pierced her brother’s skin and stained the wood with his blood.

At first, she had stayed within the crypt out of desperation, refusing to believe that Fulke had slipped away with her brother again. No, there must have been some clue, some trace of their whereabouts; they could not afford to start their search anew knowing now what her brother had already endured.

“There is nothing else here we can use?”

“No.” Basim’s answer was short and to the point; he could not imagine how it must have felt for Eivor to discover the true extent of Fulke’s deranged nature but it was clear that if they had any hope of catching up with the Paladin they would need to leave, now.

“Eivor, we will not fail again. Believe me.”

Failure. A word Eivor had never used to describe herself before they set foot in this land and yet it was the only word that could describe how she felt as she peered into the box left by Fulke.

“How can a man survive such a loss?”

“It is possible but we must act fast if we have any hope of—”

“Finding him alive. Yes.” Basim fell silent as Eivor plucked a scrap of paper from the table beside her and offered it to him. He took it hesitantly, inspecting the blood-stained paper as Eivor dragged herself closer to the chair that had held her brother; a barbaric throne for the son of a King.

“What of torture of the mind?” She asked. “She deprived him of water, light, everything! Burnt his flesh, wounded his body… Gods Basin _his arm_ …” It was too much for her to bear. With a roar of agony bursting from her lungs she buried the blade of her father’s axe deep into the wooden throne, flinching as it splintered in front of her eyes. How could such a fragile object have restrained such a resilient spirit?

“Come Eivor.” She flinched away from Basim’s hand at her shoulder. The only touch her brother had felt for weeks had been accompanied by pain. She did not deserve his or anyone’s comfort.

“What do we do with…with….” Her eyes landed on the box still open before them. She did not want to touch it let alone see its contents again but she could not bare to leave it here for Fulke’s followers to find. They would not have a single piece of her brother.

“I will burn it. Perhaps it will give him peace to know that there are no physical remnants of these dark days.” Silently he wondered whether Sigurd would ever feel peace again. As Eivor busied herself with freeing her weapon, Basim approached the table and with a final, disgusted look, closed the box and sealed its horrific prize away from the eyes of the world.

“Come Eivor, let us leave this place of shadows.”

\--

“Where is Eivor?” Randvi struggled to bite back her groan of annoyance as Dag’s voice echoed through the Longhouse. He had taken to asking this question every morning and every evening much to Randvi’s increasing annoyance. She did not know where Eivor was, only that she was somewhere in Cent chasing down the madwoman Fulke.

“Searching for Sigurd.” She replied from the Alliance Room, not bothering to look up from the map she had been studying. Heavy footsteps sounded across the floor but came to an abrupt stop at the threshold to the room; Randvi had made it clear after his last speech denouncing Eivor that he was not welcome in her workspace.

“How do you know for sure? She could be chasing glory for all we know.”

“Do you doubt Eivor so much that you would question her honour?” He balked under her fiery gaze before storming towards an empty table in disgust. Of course Randvi would defend Eivor. He knew that others considered him blind to the events surrounding him, so consumed with his own legacy that he did not reflect on anything else but he knew what Eivor was and after weeks of watching, he suspected he knew what Randvi was as well.

The Jarlskona took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose as she forced herself to focus on the map laid out in front of her. She knew that Eivor would be reluctant to leave Sigurd’s side when he was among them once more but their standing in England rested on a knives edge; they had enough alliances to secure their safety against immediate threats but they were still relatively unknown in the farther regions to the North and West. If they wanted to cement their status, they would need the help of those distant lands.

“Where is he? Where is Sigurd?” She turned her head as Dag’s faint voice caught her attention before she turned away once more – whatever nonsense he was saying did not deserve her attention.

Eivor flinched as Dag approached her; she had hoped to avoid stoking the fire of his rage at least until she had spoken to Randvi and they had agreed upon a way forward but it seemed he had grown weary of waiting for her.

_The Gods continue to test me…_

“He…He is alive.” _But not the man he was._

“But not with you? Where is he?” She didn’t know and it was this fact that pierced her heart so deeply. She stepped around the man who had become a growing thorn in her side.

“Dag, not now. I need to speak with Randvi.” His meaty palm gripped her shoulder and spun Eivor around to face him.

“You never found him, did you Eivor? Tell us, we deserve the truth.” She shoved his hand away as he advanced with a look of thunder. She held her ground against his anger, her own rage rising to meet his.

“I need to speak with Randvi. Step aside. Now.”

“You never found him…because you didn’t look.” Deep breaths did nothing to prevent the swirling tide of disgust from rising within her. If he had known how many weeks she had spent scouring the countryside, how many nights she had spent agonising over her brothers’ fate he would not dare make such a claim to her face.

“I see you Eivor, I know what you are.”

“You see nothing but your own poisoned visions Dag. Leave my sight.” A sense of foreboding clung to the air as she walked past Sigurd’s seat at the head of the Longhouse, the anxiety she had felt since returning abating slightly when she heard Dag’s footsteps grow quieter.

Her steps slowed as she approached Randvi. She had been dreading this encounter from the moment Basim dragged her from the crypt. To look into the eyes of the woman she loved and tell her that her husband was still missing was not a task she felt she could perform. She flinched as Randvi’s eyes, tired from long nights spent waiting, glanced up and met her own equally exhausted eyes.

“Eivor…you come alone. I fear what that means for Sigurd.”

“I…I could not find him. That madwoman Fulke she…she slipped away. Took him to Suthsexe. We need an army. Call on our alliances.” Her fist slammed into the table. “Remind them of their oaths to me. We must act before…”

“Before…”

Eivor ignored the question, unable to think of what could happen if she failed Sigurd again. Their clan would not survive such a loss and neither would she.

“Before what Eivor?” Randvi didn’t try to hide her impatience as she waited for Eivor to speak. She had allowed the woman to keep her secrets in the past but this burden was too large to be carried by one person.

Eventually, Eivor spoke through gritted teeth. “She tortured him Randvi. Did unspeakable things. Severed his arm and left it as a gift. I fear she means to kill him. Slowly.” It was beyond anything she had expected Eivor to say. To imagine the pain and suffering Sigurd had been forced to endure left Randvi sick to her stomach.

“…Gods.”

There was nothing Eivor could say that would offer any comfort to the bereft woman at her side; her husband was missing, gravely injured and far from those who loved him. What words could offer any comfort in the face of such malice?

“What else Eivor? You have a look that speaks of further anguish.” It was true although Eivor wished more than anything that it wasn’t. When she had read Fulke’s report, so detailed in its description of her brother’s torture, she had been consumed with an unstoppable rage, an unquenchable desire for revenge that would have made the Gods shake with fear. 

“No more secrets Eivor. Tell me.”

_No…no more secrets my beloved. You deserve to know everything…_

Randvi forced herself to listen to every painful world, every description that left Eivor’s lips until finally, she silenced the drengr with a wave of her hand.

“Enough …please I…I need a moment Eivor.” The blonde warrior wished she could offer a balm for Randvi’s pain but it was not possible. She had selfishly hoped that her presence would have been enough to sooth the woman she loved, but as she walked away with a heavy heart, she began to fear that she would forever be associated with pain, blood and death.

\--

No feast had been prepared to welcome the Wolf-Kissed home and Eivor was glad for it. After leaving Randvi’s side she had returned to her own chamber and collapsed onto the thick furs covering her bed with a dejected sigh escaping her lips. There was nothing she could do in that moment; she could not find Sigurd; she could not comfort Randvi so she had decided she would sleep. Except sleep alluded her much in the same way Fulke had alluded her for months as she led them across the various regions of England. Rolling over and slamming her fist into her pillow, she glared at the walls of her chamber as a caged wolf would glare at the bars. Restless energy coursed through her veins making it impossible for her to remain still so she climbed to her feet and began pacing the floor, hoping the repetitive movements would calm her.

_My mind is fixed on Suthsexe. I fear I will not rest until I have scorched every building in search of you brother_

Her eyes looked around the chamber as she walked its length, taking note of the gifts she had received over the last year: Soma’s shield, King Oswald’s ring, trinkets and tokens from travellers she had met along roads, all of it seemed trivial in the harsh light of day. Her eyes continued scanning the walls until she stopped in her tracks, her gaze resting on the book she had taken from Lunden. The nun whose corpse she had lifted the book from had hoped she would take it. Take it and learn from the knowledge contained within so that the sacrifices of the many would be worth it.

_Perhaps this book will be of use to me now…_

Its pages were intricately decorated with drawings of plants and minerals, a few of which Eivor recognised as she sat on the chest at the foot of the bed and flicked through the book with growing interest. There were entire sections dedicated to treating common illnesses but it was the final, gruesome section which captivated her the most: the treatment of battle injuries. It was grisly work, reading through the pages that catalogued so much suffering but if the secret to helping Sigurd was written in these pages, then it was work she would gladly endure.

This was how Randvi had found her an hour later, her focus solely on the pages in front of her and not the woman who hovered just outside her chambers with guilt clinging to her shoulders. She had not meant to send her away but hearing her describe what Sigurd had endured had stirred something within her; a fear she had not known she possessed until she was staring into the flames imagining Eivor in Sigurd’s place.

She watched as Eivor placed the book on her lap before she quickly undid the bracer around her left forearm, throwing it onto the bed before placing her arm on her thigh. She stood in silence as Eivor’s eyes flickered between the pages of the book and her own flesh before she stepped into the room as her curiosity got the best of her.

“Eivor?”

“Randvi, are you well?” Eivor did not meet her gaze, her attention fixed on the tendons of her arm and the way they twitched with each movement of her fingers. She wondered if Sigurd had been equally fascinated before Fulke put blade to flesh. She only looked away from her arm when Randvi dropped to her knees in front of her and gently cupped Eivor’s chin, lifting her head and gazing into her eyes.

“I am. I have written to our allies advising them to expect our call to arms.” Eivor nodded, her mind drifting to the empty regions of the map on the table; they would need an army to breach Portchester but they could not wait much longer – Sigurd could not wait much longer.

“Good, thank you.”

“Of course.” Randvi’s fingers slipped from Eivor’s face to trail gently down the side of her neck, delighting in the way Eivor leaned into her touch with a soft sigh.

“How are you Eivor?” She had realised whilst she had been waiting for Eivor to return that she scarcely asked about Eivor’s comfort: their recent conversations had revolved around Sigurd’s disappearance, Randvi’s wellbeing, the expansion of the settlement but never Eivor herself. It was a slight she was determined to correct.

“I…I do not know.” Her admission softly spoken in hushed tones broke Randvi’s heart. Before she could attempt to comfort her, Eivor gently cradled her hand and trailed gentle kisses along her wrist before she stood and turned away.

“Eivor…”

“I fear I will not know happiness until Sigurd is returned to us. His absence weighs on my heart and clouds my thoughts.” She received no response to her admission save the sound of Randvi’s breath in her ear as firm arms encircled her waist.

“Yet I fear what will become of us when he returns.” She shuddered as lips which had caressed the back of her neck paused. They had briefly discussed what their future could hold when Sigurd returned but that conversation had taken place before he had been taken hostage, when their only concern had been Sigurd’s reaction to Randvi’s request to sever their marriage bonds. Now neither knew the temperament of the man who would return or whether his fractured mind would act rationally.

“We will endure my love, please believe me.” She _had_ believed her, back when their love was new and the world was bright with hope but now the growing darkness tormented her, leaving her cold with fear and dread. Could their love truly endure when she felt this… _lost?_ Eivor’s silence stretched in front of them and left Randvi clinging to Eivor in desperation.

“Eivor… your silence troubles me.” It did not trouble her, it _terrified_ her. Eivor wore her emotions plainly but this silence was unrecognisable to her.

“Forgive me Randvi. I was…thinking on what has happened. I fear I will be poor company tonight.” Randvi pressed her face into Eivor’s shoulders and breathed deeply, hoping that this would not be the last time she embraced the drengr. A broken sigh filled the air as Eivor’s hand covered her own and gently squeezed her fingers. The woman had given so much for their clan, more than any other person could give so the least she could do was afford the woman a moment’s rest, even if leaving her side was the last thing she wished to.

“I will leave you to your rest Eivor.” Regretfully she slipped her arms from Eivor’s waist and left quickly so the other woman would not see her heartbreaking. She slipped into her chambers and collapsed onto the furs which did little to muffle the few sobs she allowed herself to cry. She had accepted long ago that her life would be one of anguish borne from duty but she had not expected it hurt _so much._ She could not accept that his was what the fates had planned for her and Eivor. No, this was not how their tale would end. She would prove to Eivor that she was worthy of the woman’s affections and that their love was strong enough to endure the months of desperate longing that lay ahead of them.

\--

Eivor was wrenched from a fitful sleep by the sound of lightning splitting the sky and Dag’s voice calling her name, demanding her presence in the courtyard. The night was dark; the moon hidden by storm clouds that surrounded the settlement with an eerie darkness.

“Eivor! Face me Eivor!” She grabbed her axe and shield before leaving her chambers. She had suspected Dag would call her out like this but she had thought he would have done so earlier when her leadership had been less established.

“Stop there, Wolf-Kissed. This ends now.” His words had already drawn a crowd despite the harsh weather.

“Dag. Turn around and walk away.”

“Your habits are not my own, Eivor. I do not flee responsibility for the sake of glory. I stand firm with my people.” An audience had begun to gather around them despite the howling winds and lashing rain. She had expected those present to scoff at his words but to her amazement they simply watched silently, withholding their judgement and granting Dag the opportunity to call her out further.

“For many months, I have stood at your side, keeping faith in Sigurd’s judgement. Because I believed in him and his vision.” He stepped away from Eivor and addressed the settlement directly, his words striking a chord with those she had kept in the dark.

“Do as Eivor commands, he told me. And I have. Against my better judgement, I did as you have asked me. And where has that left us? Without a Jarl, without a purpose. Watching you chase glory around this land like a spooked hare.” She snarled as he stepped closer. Her words of rebuttal died on her throat as her eyes slipped to those standing closest; she saw in their eyes the same trepidation she had seen in Dag’s before it had been replaced with bitter jealousy.

“You could have come to me in confidence, Dag. But that offer is gone.” They had crossed a threshold, she and Dag, one that had been foretold by the Fates many years ago. She had seen her death in a vision and it was not here, not in the grounds of the settlement she had helped build and not at the hands of a man driven by paranoia and a lifetime of resentment.

“I have no need of it. My mind is fixed. Hear me all! I challenge Eivor for the leadership of this clan until Sigurd is safe home.”

“Walk away Dag.”

“No, we fight to the death.”

 _So this is the path you have chosen ‘old friend’? To die by my axe?_ she thought as the clan began forming a circle around them. She had wanted to avoid this, had hoped that Dag would recognise that she was acting as she thought Sigurd would act but as he turned to her with a sneer on his face, she knew there was only one acceptable answer to his challenge.

“I accept. We settle this now.”

“Please, please both of you!” She spared Randvi a look of grim acceptance as she pulled her shield from her back, slipping her arm through the inside strap before turning away from her to track Dag’s movements. Just as she pivoted away before dodging a strike, Dag had a tendency to lower his axe when he intended to charge, so as she watched him barrel towards her, she gritted her teeth and forced herself to roll over his shield. She landed a few feet behind his exposed back and with a final prayer to Thor, she attacked.

The blade of her axe sliced through his leather armour with ease but this did nothing to stem his rage if anything the sight of his blood painting her axe spurned him on. She dodged and countered his strikes as best she could but he was luckier than she and she stumbled as his axe clipped her shoulder and sent her crashing into the mud.

“Eivor!”

She rolled to the left as he strove to take the advantage but she was quick, leaping to her feet and locking her axe with his as she pleaded a final time.

“You walk a fools path Dag. This does not need to happen!”

“Silence!”

The two fought as Gods: their axe’s singing into the night as they fought with wild abandonment. In a fit of rage Dag had tossed aside his shield which left him exposed, vulnerable: an advantage Eivor was determined to use. She waited for him to get close enough before she too threw her shield to the side. She paid no mind to the murmur working its way through the spectators at her actions, instead focusing on pushing her shoulder into his side and trapping his arm so he could not raise it to defend himself.

“I know who you are Wolf-Kissed!”

She had grown sick of hearing those words. “Who am I then? Tell me!”

“You are indeed a Wolf Eivor.” He twisted his frame just enough to tilt her off balance and they crashed to the floor.

“A wolf with its eyes set on what it cannot have.” His left hook caught her chin and left her stunned but still, she did not relinquish her hold on him.

“What it should not lawfully touch! Oh yes I know all about you and _her.”_ Eyes narrowed as Dag jutted his chin towards Randvi who, along with the rest of the clan watched with bated breath. She prayed to Freyja that his words were not heard by the clan, unable to bear it if they shunned Randvi because of her love for her. A roar of thunder drowned at his next words but she heard them clearly.

“When Sigurd returns, he will know of how you spent these past months chasing after his wife instead of chasing after h-urgh!” Her blade cutting through the tender skin of his abdomen silenced his voice and his threat.

His eyes widened in surprise as he watched Eivor sheathed the hidden blade before rolling away from his grip and stumbling to her feet. His hands grappled with the fatal wound oozing blood sluggishly and she watched transfixed as it dripped down his armour and stained the earth where he lay. It was a sobering sight for one who had lost so many.

“You forced my hand!” Her words were more to herself than the stricken man; no words of absolution could cleanse him of the wrongs had committed against her

“Eiv…Eivor…” She followed his outstretched hand to his axe which lay discarded before searching his pleading eyes. He had challenged her, accused her of breaking her oath- he did not deserve to dine at Odin’s right hand. Yet, it was not her who should pass judgement on whether he was worthy of Valhalla. Her heart ached for Sigurd; this sorry affair would have never come to pass had he been present to calm the swells of Dag’s anger. As her eyes drifted to Randvi who stood with a furrowed brow and disappointment clouding her eyes, she knew a lot of things wouldn’t have happened if Sigurd had been here. 

“Take this.” She placed the weapon on his chest and helped him grip it tightly - she would say no parting words to him but she would remain by his side until the light had faded from his eyes.

The clan members present watched the display with pity; Dag had often been misguided in his beliefs but his loyalty had never been in question. They watched as Eivor forced herself to stand over the body of her friend before her voice rose above the raging storm.

“Go to your homes. I will lay him to rest.” No one moved. Dag had been wrong about many things, but he had been right that they deserved to know what had happened to Sigurd. Eivor glanced up fearfully, afraid that her actions would incur their wrath and they were each struck by how young she looked in that moment, particularly Randvi.

Lightning flashed overhead as Eivor again shouted for them to return to their homes. “Dag accused me of betrayal. He accused me of breaking my oath. And this!” She gripped her axe and held it high. “This is the answer I gave him!

Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Randvi break the circle and walked towards her. “Now you will hear the truth unvarnished. None, none more than me wishes for Sigurd’s safe return.” Desperate, pleading eyes looked to Randvi for reassurance but the woman’s heart was too heavy to give it. “You know this, you know this, all of you!”

How could there by any doubt in the minds of her family that she had done everything to return their Jarl to them? It seemed unthinkable and yet here she was, standing in the rain begging her clan to believe her. “And I will burn the fields and dredge the rivers of Wessex to find him! That…that is my oath.” At last, Eivor watched as the circle was broken by her friends turning away and heading for the warmth of their houses. She did not know if they had believer her words but she found it hard to care, not when Randvi looked at her with such pity.

“That is my oath.” Her words were whispered, more meant to be heard by her own beating heart than anyone else’s. Randvi walked towards Eivor and raised her hand to touch her shoulder but Eivor moved aside, refusing to accept the comfort offered as Dag’s final words echoed in her ear.

“Eivor?”

Randvi longed to reach out and touch her shoulder, her cheek, anything, but Eivor resisted. She did not want comfort; in that moment all she had wanted was the clan’s approval but all she saw reflected in their eyes was doubt. Doubt for her leadership or doubt for character she did not know but they doubted her all the same. 

“I will find Sigurd. You will not be without your Jarl. This I promise.”

There was nothing more that could be said. She had made her oath and she would die to fulfil it.

\--

She buried Dag in the cold dirt next to Svend and remained at his grave for the remainder of the night. The events had left her empty and cold, feelings she could not help but associate with those how had shunned her the night before.

Had she been naive to their growing unrest? Had her days spent securing alliances and tracking her brother been interpreted, as Dag had said, as her vain attempts to secure her own legacy? Or had they simply not known what to say? She groaned as she held her head in her hands; her thoughts were too loud.

“We will think of you often Dag.” She muttered before standing and walking away without a backwards glance. She knew she should have said more but she had been unable to think of anything worth saying. Words praising his courage tasted like ash in her mouth so what would have been the point of saying them aloud? He had made his choice and died for it as she would have done if the Gods had willed it so.

She slipped through the back entryway of the Longhouse so she could avoid as many people as possible, unsure how she would react to faces which she had been able to read only a few days ago. She knew Randvi would be in the alliance room waiting for her to make an appearance but she was tired, overwhelmingly so. Tired of the pressure forced on her by an absent Jarl, tired of the burdens she was forced to carry despite no longer having the strength but most of all tired of her happiness, her wants and desires being overlooked. She smiled sadly; if Dag were here, he would have called her selfish. Maybe that was exactly what she was.

“Eivor.”

“Randvi.” How many times had she stood on the threshold of this chamber, her heart stopping when green eyes locked onto hers? Her breath stilling in her lungs when she approached her with careful steps? Too many times to count and she had counted; every single moment spent in the company of the other woman had been stored in her heart for when she needed a reason to keep fighting.

“How are you feeling?”

“I-I would rather not talk about it.” She had spent too many cold hours reflecting on words said to go over them again, no matter how much she knew she should.

“I understand.” Randvi always did which made it so hard for Eivor to understand why the woman had stood silently as she had pleaded with her clan to believe that she had acted in their best interests, why _everyone_ who had heard Dag’s deranged lies kept silent as he questioned her honour. It was something she would need time to reflect on and make peace with but time was not something she had.

“My mind is fixed on Suthsexe. Basim and I have a chance to save Sigurd but we will need an army. “

“That is for you to decide. The more alliances you have, the better your chances at victory.” Randvi watched as Eivor considered what options she had available; by the time she travelled to the northern and western regions, forged an alliance and returned her brother could be dead. No, she needed to act.

“I will go now. And I will bring Sigurd back with me. That is a promise.”

“Good. I will send word to our allies at once. Meet with Basim when you can. He should be in Croindene by now. But first.” Eivor forced herself to remain still despite the urge to run as she waited for Randvi to round the desk before following her into her chambers.

“Randvi, what is this?”

“I do not want the events of yesterday to cloud your judgement. Least of all now.” In truth she had wanted to make sure she was well – she had appeared so broken as she received judgement at the hands of the clan in the dead of night. 

“What’s done is done. All that matters now is Sigurd’s safe return.” 

“And you will see him returned to us.”

“Yes…” The words did not need to be said; both knew that Eivor would not return unless Sigurd was with her. The thought that this might be the last they saw each other cracked through the tension which had held them captive and both women crossed the room in rapid steps, clinging to each other tightly as they whispered desperate words of reassurance and longing.

“I should have spoken in your defence- “

“Dag’s fate was written the moment we arrived here. No words would have changed the outcome.”

Randvi murmured in displeasure before she gripped Eivor’s hand tightly and tugged her closer. Eivor wanted to resist the pull of the other woman, knowing that to lean in now would make it impossible for her to leave but she was powerless, she always had been,

Randvi sighed as her lips softly brushed against Eivor’s, her fingers gripping the front of her tunic and pulling her closer as she felt strong hands settle on her hips. Eivor groaned low in her throat as she felt Randvi deepen the kiss, lightly nipping at her bottom lip as her hands slipped under her clothing to rest against heated skin.

“Randvi…” It was agonising to force her lips away from Randvi but she did not have long to mourn the loss of her before Randvi surged forward, kissing her again as she pushed herself harder into Eivor’s arms. They stood entwined, lost in the sight, smell, taste and touch of the one their soul yearned for until eventually, regrettably, Randvi slipped away from her.

“Promise me.” Her voice was ragged as she tried to catch her breath. “Promise me that will not be the last kiss we share. Please.” Her last word was swallowed by Eivor swooping down and kissing her a final time, her hands caressing the heated skin of her cheeks as she tried to convey the true depth of her love.

“ _Eivor…”_

“I meant what I said to you so long ago Randvi. I do not wish to be anywhere but by your side even if I must wait a lifetime. Even if it means waiting until we are together in Valhalla- “

“Don’t.” She gripped Eivor’s arms tightly as she stared beseechingly up at her. “Do not speak of Valhalla on the eve of battle.” She went willingly when Eivor pulled her to her chest, her breath falling into a rhythm which was echoed by Eivor’s heartbeat as they each looked to the dark days ahead.

“Sigurd will need his sister at his side.”

“He will need his wife also.” She blinked against the sting of tears, refusing to cry for something they had both accepted would happen before looking up at Eivor.

“He will need us both, even if that means we support him separately. Even if it means we cannot be…” Her fingers ran through blonde hair, savouring the feel of the silky strands for what would likely be the final time.

“May we endure this pain until our hearts lead us to each other again.”

A startled laugh burst from Randvi’s chest, her eyes sparkling as she gazed in wonder up at her.

“The poet in you sings.”

“For you, Randvi.” She leaned closer and placed a final, tender kiss to her forehead, her lips lingering against her warm skin. “Always for you.”

There was an air of finality to the brief but desperate kiss they shared before Eivor left for Suthsexe that evening but in the midst of their sorrow was a faint glimmer of hope: hope that their days spent apart would soon be limited in number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Replaying the scene between Dag and Eivor continuously over a 12 hour period was physically draining and emotionally damaging!


	8. Suthsexe

When her eyes had first landed on Sigurd, his body crumpled against the Christian alter, she had been sure he was dead. Tears had welled in her eyes at the sight of him slumped in a pool of his own blood as Fulke stood over him in triumph before once again escaping. She had watched Basim grip Sigurd’s arm and drag the once proud man from the burning remains of Portcester fortress before she had descended into the bowels of the fortress with death on her mind.

She had left the burning ruins of Portcester with a heavy heart; the deaths of her warriors and Brothir had weighed on her conscience and dulled her senses. Her brother was returned to them and the madwoman Fulke now burned in her own version of hell, none of which had been possible without the sacrifices of the few, but as she had bid farewell to Ubba and Soma, she wondered whether the sacrifices endured by them all had been too great.

She had returned to Ravensthorpe as quickly as her horse had allowed but she still felt as if an age had passed by the time her feet touched the familiar earth. She had sprinted across the short distance between the stables and the Longhouse and thrown herself against the doors, bursting into the hall with her heart in her throat.

With her eyes firmly locked onto the brother she had fought so hard to retrieve, the brother now sat at his rightful place, she could feel nothing but joy and relief. She paid no mind to the anxious looks exchanged between Holger and Rowan as she walked past, nor did she allow Randvi to pull her aside as she neared Sigurd’s throne; she had walked through Helheim to retrieve her brother and nothing would stop her from embracing him.

“Sigurd Jarl. Back where you belong. O, I missed you, my brother.” He did not react as she drew closer, continuing to stare into the mug of ale held loosely in his hand. His expression was guarded, distant but Eivor paid no mind to this – he was among family and would soon be himself again.

“Yes, you missed me. Once or twice, I hear.” The look of disdain he wore as he finally looked her in the eye stopped her heart and sent shivers of unease through her.

“What?” Dread began to rise in her chest as he scoffed at her response.

“You took your time to find me. Was it for this, to enjoy your time on my throne?”

Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled to find the words that would quash his suspicions, the same suspicions Dag had spewed before he had died by her hand. “I did only what you asked of me.”

“And slew all those who questioned you?”

_Dag… who told you brother…it should have been me…_

“Th-that is not what happened. Randvi…Randvi will tell you.”

Where was Randvi? She would speak true of her actions, she was sure of it, but as she turned to the face the woman who stood to the side like a stone pillar, the only indication that she could hear their conversation being the hurt in her eyes, Sigurd’s voice dragged her attention back to him.

“O yeah, will she? My dear wife, brought to me as gift by her clan to pacify my ambition. Yes, I’m sure she will be the one to tell me the truth!” She had never heard him speak so harshly of the woman he had once considered to be dear to him and judging by how Randvi kept her distance, Eivor suspected that she had not heard such a tone either.

“What did that witch Fulke do to you?” The name of the Paladin stirred something in Sigurd and he rose from his seat, his movements slow but calculated.

“You could not even begin to imagine the things I’ve seen.” Eivor resisted the urge to step back as his voice rose. The visions she had seen in the depths of Portcester - of Odin, Fulke and her brother had seemed too fantastic to be based on anything that resembled truth but as she watched him swell beneath his own visions of grandeur, she felt… disturbed. “What I’ve learned. Born of gods, is who I am. A Lord of War! A Roman Mars! I know who I am, I know my destiny. And you will not hinder me!” She flinched at the words he spat at her; she had never wanted to hinder him, only to save him.

An uncomfortable silence clung to the air as the siblings' locked eyes, oblivious to the tension weaving through the room. Eventually, Sigurd seemed to falter, as if the fog which had hung over him had begun to clear, leaving him unsteady and weary.

“Brother - “

“Forgive me, I am faint. Tired of the day and all that has passed. I need air.” With no care for those who had gathered to welcome him home, Sigurd stormed from the hall and left Eivor alone with her thoughts.

She had been so sure that his return would banish the evil airs that had clung to her since Oxenefordscire. It was the belief that his return would herald in a golden age for their clan which had strengthened her resolve as she cut through England in his name but now, she stood alone and unsure of what lay ahead.

“He’s been this way since his return.” Her eyes flickered to Randvi who had approached her silently, her own brow equally furrowed. In truth, he had been worse. He had spent the days following his return under a permanent storm cloud; lashing out at anyone who dared ask about his health and retreating into his own mind whenever Randvi had entered the room. In truth, the villagers were afraid to approach him and she found it hard to blame them.

“Could you speak with him? Settle his mind.” It was a lot to ask of the woman who had been obsessed with his safety even to the detriment of her own health but Randvi knew that she was the only one who could cut through the storm and guide him back to the light. As she was met with stony silence, she feared that Eivor would refuse her request but just as she was beginning to lose hope, she felt Eivor’s hand clasp her shoulder.

“Of course.”

“Thank you. I know it is a lot to ask after all you have done…” Eivor dismissed her words with a shake of her head and returned to watching the doorway with darkened eyes. The events of the previous months, no matter how much they had affected her were of no consequence, not when her brother remained lost to them.

“Randvi…Sigurd has been through so much, more than any of us can imagine. Be patient with him – I do not believe he means the words he says.”

“Of course.” Anger had tainted her response as she drank deeply from her horn to prevent further words slipping from her lips. The drengr had seen only the weak, broken form of her brother whereas she had seen his rage first hand and felt the sting of his acidic words as they left his mouth – she did not need to be lectured on the importance of patience. 

All this passed through her mind in a matter of seconds and left her weary with exhaustion.

“Forgive me Eivor, it has been a trying few days.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Randvi wondered if there would ever come a time when Eivor did not offer forgiveness so freely.

“I cannot imagine.” Randvi’s voice was softer now as she looked back at Sigurd’s throne. “The Savagery of that woman, Fulke.”

“For all her wretchedness, she seemed to…to like him. I know that sounds strange.”

“How do you mean?

“She claimed to know him, to admire him. Said he was a greater man than we could ever know. Yet for all her praise, she tortured him to the brink of madness and death. I do not understand why.” In truth Eivor did not _wish_ to understand, preferring to believe that Fulke’s treatment of Sigurd had stemmed more from her own insanity than anything else.

“In time Sigurd may come around. And if he does, he may be willing to speak.” Eivor let Randvi’s word wash over her before she turned and left the hall. Like Basim she had grown weary of the festivities and longed to be alone with her thoughts. She had arrived with hope and joy bursting from her chest but now, as she faced the possibility that he had returned in body only, she felt nothing.

\--

The Raven Clan hoped that with their Jarl returned, life could slowly go back to normal and to some extent it did; they still raided monasteries along the river to expand their borders, visitors from allied lands still arrived by boat and horse and they had even begun making preparations for the Yuletide festival. 

For some however his return had brought a sense of oppression to their once-peaceful lives. Eivor had tried to explain that his deeds and words were borne out of pain but that had done little to suppress their growing resentment. It was to be expected; their leader had returned a cold man with no regard for patience and kindness - such things would not be tolerated for long.

When Eivor had made enquiries about what further work was to be done, Randvi had asked that she remain within the boundaries of the settlement for a few days and she had agreed, grateful for the chance to rest and recover from months spent fighting. But as Eivor watched the sun rise on another day spent trapped between the river and the woods, she found herself questioning whether she would ever feel truly at peace away from the sounds of the battlefield.

Eivor had spent her morning the same way she had spent the last few days; trying to undo the damage caused by Sigurd’s brash actions and unfeeling words. It was a task she gladly undertook but even she was beginning to find it difficult to excuse his temper.

As she approached the Longhouse with the intention of finding some menial chores to complete, she had stumbled across Knud trying valiantly to comfort Sylvie despite the tears streaming down his own puffy cheeks. She had tried to ignore the rising tide of anger as she listened to Sylvie retell the moment Sigurd had found them waiting outside Eivor’s chambers and sent them from the hall with stern words, her mood darkening further when Sylvie looked up with tears in her eyes before asking if they had done something else to offend their Jarl.

“Peace children, your Jarl has suffered much. I am sure he regrets the harshness of his words.” The sound of Sigurd’s raised voice coming from within stilled her words and she looked back in trepidation. She had not been exempt from his anger; if anything her presence seemed to trigger the delusions of godlike status which left him raving. Although Basim had assured her that Sigurd had spoken warmly of his sister when he first returned, she no longer believed that Sigurd could look at her with anything less than mistrust clouding his vision. 

“Go, both of you. Perhaps Reda has a tale or two he can share to liven your spirits.” They too had heard the thundering sound of their Jarl and were grateful to Eivor for shielding them from Sigurd’s ire, sparing her a final sympathetic look before dashing towards the tent by the river.

_The innocence of children should not be robbed by one man’s fury…_

She stepped into the hall with a guarded expression, keen to not give away her hesitation at being in his presence until she knew what version of her brother she would be facing. Sigurd leaned against his throne with a face of thunder; thunder she knew would shortly be directed her way. No matter; she had accepted that Sigurd often needed to breathe life into his delusions before they could leave his mind and who else was best placed to hear them?

“Sigurd.”

“Well well, the wondering drengr graces me with her presence at last.”

“Did you summon me my Jarl?” They both knew he had not; he had barely spoken to her since their conversation by Dag’s grave. Sat the time she had quickly dismissed the idea that their paths had diverged, refusing to accept that he was now too far from her reach but perhaps there had been some truth in it; only time would tell.

She waited in silence as he stepped from his throne to walk towards her and she searched his cold eyes for a glimpse of the brother she missed deeply.

“Randvi tells me you sat judgement whilst I was…” His eyes clouded over as his mind slipped again to events too dark to reflect on.

“I did. Between Holger and Rowan.” He nodded before returning to his seat and pinning her with a look of intrigue.

“Tell me about it.” Her eyes shifted from his face to stare at the entryway to Alliance Room where she was sure Randvi could hear every word and yet made no appearance. She’d had very little contact with the woman she could love only in secret, but that was to be expected; they had reluctantly agreed to limit the time they spent together in case Sigurd began to suspect, but even when Sigurd was absent from the Longhouse, Randvi had seemed reluctant to be in her presence.

Her attempts to discuss their relationship had been met with the same, hushed answer:

“Please Eivor. Not now. Not with Sigurd there.” She had agreed to her wishes but that did not mean the rejection had not stung her. 

Her eyes returned to watching her brother and she took a deep breath before answering. “Rowan accused Holger of shearing his prized mare’s tale without permission. Holger could not offer a sound defence so I awarded Rowan compensation.”

“And you thought the punishment … fair?”

“I did. I still do.”

He scoffed at her confidence and she braced herself for his judgement. “How naïve you are Wolf-Kissed.” She bristled at the condescending edge to his voice- she was not used to him criticising the actions she had made in the past, actions she had only made because he had not been there.

“You thought awarding the stable-master a measly sum of silver fitting?” Eivor did not answer. Instead, she forced herself to listen to his words carefully in case he let slip a clue to his real purpose.

“And what of Holger the rat? Has he learnt his lesson? Has he ceased tormenting the people of this settlement?” Her eyes dropped to the floor as his temper finally made itself known; to her great disappointment, Holger had continued to rile his neighbours but she suspected Sigurd already knew that.

“I…brother—”

“I am your Jarl and yet you seek to usurp my divine right to pass judgement on such cases-“

“You were not here brother!” Her own voice rose to match his as she desperately tried to make him see sense. She did not know what had triggered his latest bout of fury, nor did she know how to quell it. She could only endure his rage until the light eventually returned to his eyes and robbed his anger of its voice.

“You have always acted without thinking Eivor. Your actions lack foresight, your passions overcome you--” She had heard these words before and they stung just as they had done in Oxenefordscire except now she was too weary to allow his attack to remain unchecked.

“And what of your passions! Your lack of foresight brother! Everything I have done I have done in your name, for your clan! And yet you berate me like a child.” The moment he moved towards her, Eivor knew she had misstepped but she no longer cared. She had allowed his temper to rule unchecked for too long; she had seen glimpses of his budding arrogance in Oxenefordscire and had regretted not squashing his ego then. If she had, perhaps Fulke’s hold on him would not have become so consuming. She had backed down then, she would not back down now.

“You dare defy me! Your Jarl!” His face loomed in her vision; snarling and enraged, so unlike his once calm nature.

“I defy my brother. My actions are my own Sigurd. I do not need to justify them! Sigurd… you are my brother; my Jarl and I will support you to the end – did I not say these words to you in Norway and again when we arrived here?” His rage seemed to flicker as he was confronted with memories drenched in snow and ice, of times when they believed they were unshakeable. As quickly as the light had returned it dimmed again, fading into the darkness of Sigurd’s eyes as he challenged her further.

“And what of young Ceolbert? Did he benefit from your actions?” A coldness spread through her as if she had been plunged into the waters of Norway. She already blamed herself for not preventing his death, she did not need to endure the judgement of one who was not there to witness his final moments.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Eivor’s eyes slipped from Sigurd to watch Randvi approach them with her own concern and confusion reflected in her eyes. Eivor briefly wondered how much she had heard before deciding that it did not matter - she had not spoken in her defence regardless.

“Ah my _dear_ wife. Tell me, do you think Eivor has acted as I would have wished? Has my ‘prised warrior’ kept her oath to me as she kept her oath to Ceolwulf—"

“Do not speak to me of Ceolbert!” She advanced toward Sigurd, no longer thinking clearly as the grief she had stubbornly refused to acknowledge consumed her thoughts and emotions, blinding her to anything else.

“A name added to a list already too long: Ceolbert, Dag, Brothir –”

“Enough!” Clenching her fist tightly she drove it into Sigurd’s chin with as much strength as she could muster. He stumbled from the force of her strike, a grunt of pain slipping past clenched teeth as he fell back against the steps.

Eivor stood above him with heaving lungs and trembling hands as the realisation of what she had done settled over her. She barely acknowledged Randvi as she pushed past her to stand by Sigurd who stared up at Eivor with a surprisingly calm expression.

“I…I did not mean-“

“Please Eivor, leave.”

“Randvi…”

“Leave Eivor!” Randvi turned away from her as Sigurd clambered to his feet and walked towards his chambers, she herself trailing after him without a backwards glance. Eivor could only watch helplessly as she was abandoned to her own feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing.

\--

“Hold still.” Randvi muttered as she dabbed a cloth against Sigurd’s bleeding lip, her eyes narrowing as she inspected the damage caused by Eivor’s fist. His eyes remained locked on the archway, unwavering from their fixed position as she moved around their room. She had heard their argument clearly but had resisted interfering, hoping that an honest conversation between the pair would help them both but when Sigurd had mentioned Ceolbert she knew she had been wrong, desperately wrong. She hadn’t missed the way Eivor looked at her when she had told her to leave, but how could she have done anything differently? Sigurd was her husband and she was obligated to serve him no matter how much she wished that wasn’t the case.

“There.” She cleared away her supplies and turned to leave when a hesitant hand gripped her wrist. As she turned to face Sigurd, she was struck by how childlike he appeared in that moment, his eyes searching hers for the answers to questions only he knew to ask. After a few moments, he sighed in resignation before rising and leaving the room.

“What will you do?” As Jarl it was within his rights to banish Eivor, or worse, sentence her to death for her actions. The thought of either filled her with a quiet terror.

“Thank you for your care Randvi.”

“Sigurd…”

“Peace Randvi, all is well.”

She waited for his footsteps to fade before sitting heavily upon their bed with her head in her hands. She wanted to scream against the injustice of this world; against those who, despite being gone still held sway over all of them. Most of all she wanted to scream for herself and what she was forced to do.

Distancing herself from Eivor had been necessary to protect them both but that did not mean it was easy for her. To see Eivor look so lost as she adjusted to performing a role she did not fully understand and being unable to soothe her fears with loving words and soft kisses had been the very definition of agony.

The night Eivor had come to her with a hesitant smile and questions on her lips had been particularly painful. She knew the woman deserved some reassurance that she still loved her, still yearned to spend her life with her but she had stood frozen, too scared to say the words out loud lest Sigurd hear them.

Instead, she had forced herself to do the one thing she swore she would never do: break Eivor’s heart. It was something that she continued to do every time she slipped from the room as Eivor entered or stayed at Sigurd’s side when she longed to be on her arm instead.

Her eyes drifted to the chest at the far end of the room which now held Eivor’s cloak. She had made Eivor promise that the kiss they had shared before the drengr had left to storm Portcester would not be their last but now, as she waited for her husband to return, she feared her own actions had robbed them of the chance of any happiness.

\--

“Have you come to pass judgement on me again brother?” Sigurd had found her sat by Dag’s grave with head bowed and hands clenched. He had been surprised to find her here; the two had never been close when the former had been alive and yet he knew Eivor spent most of her time by his burial mound.

“No.” He sat by her side and stared into the distance. Eivor allowed him his silence; after Oxenefordscire she had found the urge to understand her brother’s motivations better had disappeared. He had his secrets and she had hers.

“Forgive me Eivor. Sometimes there is a rift as deep as death between the events of the past and now, but sometimes those events seem more recent to me than the moment before.”

“I…I think I understand.”

“Do you?”

She nodded. The mere mention of Ceolbert had returned her to the wolf den she had found him in, the same emotions she had felt then had coursed through her veins once more. The two sat in silence for a few moments longer before Eivor tentatively turned to face him.

“I…I should go. Secure us another alliance. Give us both time to heal….”

“If that is what you feel you must do. Where will you go?”

“Jorvik.” It was one of the furthest regions of the map and would take weeks of travel to arrive. Perhaps that was what was needed; distance to reflect, to recover, to re-evaluate.

“Go Eivor, we will celebrate when you return with riches in my name.” He received only a sad smile in response. As he watched Eivor walk towards the dock he was struck by how different she now appeared to be. Gone was the arrogant warrior who believed in her own invincibility, replaced by someone who carried the weight of the nine realms on her shoulders and yet did not buckle. For the first time in months, he felt a lightness in his heart as he turned his mind’s eye to the realm of his birth and the secrets hidden there.

\--

“I want to see the alliance map.” The words tripped out of her mouth as she stood opposite Randvi with grim determination. She didn’t need to see the map, having already selected Jorvik in her mind but she could not bear to leave without saying something to her.

She waited patiently as Randvi removed the letters and scrolls from the table to slowly reveal the intricate drawing of England beneath.

“Tell me about Jorvik. Hytham says there are three more targets there.” With Basim returned she had wondered whether Hytham’s relentless pursuit of the Order of Ancients would slow, but if anything it had only fuelled his determination to cleanse this land of the order’s filth.

“If that is true, you are in luck. Our old friends Hjorr and Lufvina have made their homes in Jorvik. Both had status and influence in Norway, so they may have valuable insights into the city’s politics.”

“That would make my work easier. I will go now.”

“Do you mean now? Right now?”

“Jorvik is a fair distance, I should cover more ground whilst it is light.” The daylight was already beginning to dim.

“If…If you must.” Was this how it must be between them? Was her role now to stand aside and watch helplessly as Eivor pushed herself further in their Jarl's name regardless of the toll it would take on them both?

“Please Eivor, _be careful_.” There was so much more that needed to be said by both of them but now was not the time. Instead, she could only watch as Eivor walked away to face those she had no quarrel with to guarantee the safety of their clan, leaving behind a woman who now knew for certain that whilst it had never been in Sigurd’s nature to rule it had always been in Eivor’s.


	9. Jorvik

_Achoo!_

Eivor tugged the thick winter cloak tighter around her shoulders as she guided her mount through the trees towards the settlement, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in her throat that had been her constant companion since leaving Jorvik. With her work completed, Hjorr and Lufvina had insisted that she spend a few days reminiscing on days past – which had of course involved copious amounts of mead, ale, and strolling along the docks as winter gripped the port town in its icy grip.

She frowned as she remembered how the wind had cut through the thin layers of clothing she had brought with her from Ravensthorpe. She had been reckless, foolish to think that a lifetime spent wading through snowdrifts would be enough to protect her from the cold. The Northern winds had chilled her bones and stolen the very breath from her lungs. It had been exhilarating to begin with; she had not felt the cold so deeply since they had arrived in England but that feeling of exhilaration had quickly faded to annoyance as a dry cough had taken root.

Ljufvina had taken great delight in the suffering of her friend, teasing her relentlessly as beads of sweat had gathered on Eivor’s brow. “You have grown soft Wolf-Kissed!” She had remarked before forcing one of her own thicker cloaks around Eivor’s shoulders. “What has happened to the woman who used to swim through Fjords wearing naught but rags?”

Eivor had refused to admit just how cold she truly felt standing on the docks as she waited for Hjorr to join them. “I can still outpace you through snow and ice, Lufvina.”

“Not in this sorry state.” She was inclined to agree; she had felt the suffocating grip of illness before, but she had been younger then, her pride and arrogance warming her blood and making it impossible for her to succumb to a simple cold. Her resolve was much stronger now but she was older; older, battle-hardened but so very tired.

Hjorr had clapped her shoulder and sent her stumbling towards her horse with an apology and well wishes. “Farewell Eivor and should you ever have need of it you will have our aid.” Farewells exchanged and oaths promised, Eivor had set off across rivers and fields, the landscape slowly becoming more familiar the closer she came to home. After many nights had passed, the familiar bend of the river came into view and filled her with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. She had spent the cold nights spent huddled by a meager flame wondering what would await her return; would her brother have become cruel in her absence or more peaceful? Would Randvi look at her with a distance in her eyes or something more?

As she tugged on the reigns to slow her mount a sudden chill shot through her. Even though Lufvina’s cloak had remained draped around her shoulders, she had been unable to feel any warmth, not even that of the sun shining down on her.

“Hello Eivor!” Rowan called out as she approached. As she watched him muck out the stables she herself had built, she found herself grateful that her nose was too stuffy to be able to smell anything. She mumbled a short reply before turning to watch her horse trot towards the bundle of hay he had put out as they had approached with a bemused expression.

_At least one of us has an appetite…_

Once certain that the mare would be looked after, Eivor forced her heavy legs towards the Longhouse. It had been months since she had seen the building yet it seemed that little had changed in her long absence, save the appearance of several stuffed animal heads along the far wall. Had they been her kills or someone else’s? She did not remember…

“Eivor, you have returned!” The warrior couldn’t help but wince as Randvi’s clear voice cut through the sheep’s wool that had taken up residence in her skull.

“Hej Randvi.” She sounded exhausted even to her own ears and prayed that Randvi would not notice but if she did, that she would not comment. As Randvi busied herself with clearing away the papers, Eivor allowed her eyes to gaze upon the woman she had been without for so long. She looked well; the dark circles under her eyes had cleared and she moved with a sense of purpose that had been missing when they had last spoken.

_Perhaps she was happier whilst I was away …_ A shake of her head silenced her traitorous thoughts but did nothing to disperse her growing headache.

“I have purged the Order of Ancients from Jorvik with Ljufvina and Hjorr’s aid. And should we ever need theirs, they will come.” She tried to ignore the way Randvi watched her as she spoke, hoping the gravely edge to her voice would be blamed on the distance she had traveled rather than the winter chill in her lungs.

“You do this work well Eivor.” Hjorr had said the same thing after she had dispatched the Firebrand to whatever hell he believed in. “Is it a prelude to you joining the Hidden Ones?” Even as she asked the question Randvi feared the answer would be yes; after all what reasons did she have to stay here: A jarl whose temper shifted with the tides, a clan who had judged her actions too harshly and now viewed her with hesitant expressions and a woman who was unable to confirm, let alone express the love she felt. 

Eivor had been asked a similar question by Hytham and Basim during her time with them and she had reflected on the answer she had given before she had traveled to the frozen lands of Northern England. Despite every pain felt and every hardship endured she was as certain now as she was then that her place was among her people.

“I doubt it.” A familiar, tickling sensation spread from the base of her throat to her nose and her eyes began to water. “Not enough glory in these back-alley…alley… _Achoo!”_ The force of her sneeze forced Eivor to take a step back just as Randvi reached for her in concern.

“Are you unwell?” She could not recall a time when Eivor had been struck down with an illness.

“Merely tired.” Randvi’s lips twitched as she watched Eivor rub her pink nose in frustration.

“Very well. Sigurd is in our chambers. Perhaps visit him when you have settled?” Blue eyes flickered to the entryway of Sigurd and Randvi’s chambers as her request hung in the air between them.

“How…how is he?” She had thought of her brother often when she had been away; how he was coping with the loss of his arm, whether his mood had brightened or darkened since she had left…

A soft sigh brought Eivor back from her thoughts and she waited anxiously for Randvi’s response.

“His mood changes with the wind but he is more lucid than before. I see glimpses of the man he was in Norway but…”

“Say no more. I will leave him to his rest.” Randvi waited under Eivor had slipped from the room before she approached the entryway to watch the drengr with longing clouding her eyes. Despite her assurances that she was well, her slumped shoulders and hesitant steps suggested otherwise and although she wanted to follow Eivor and force her to rest, she knew it wasn’t her place, not anymore. She had given up the right to worry over Eivor when she had pushed her away.

\--

“Eivor. What brings you to see me?” The blonde slipped through the curtain of bones adorning the entryway to Valka’s hut quickly, not wanting to be seen seeking the Seer out so soon after arriving. Her conversation with Randvi had sapped her of what little energy she had left and forced her to consider the possibility that _maybe_ she was ill after all.

“I…” Her sentence trailed off as a series of violent coughs wracked her frame until she was forced to take a seat. Once the worst had subsided, she looked up to see Valka watching her closely.

“Hmm. Come.” She obediently moved to sit against the wall furthest to the door and closest to the fire as Valka approached her workbench, watching silently as the Seer began emptying vials of herbs into a pestle and mortar.

“What are you making?”

“An elixir. To soothe your pain and calm your thoughts.” She wanted to protest as Valka began adding more ingredients to the thickening mixture but as the fire began to slowly warm her, she found it difficult to form the words.

“When did your symptoms begin?”

“J-Jorvik…when I left Jorvik…” She gritted her teeth in a futile attempt to stop them chattering as Valka approached her.

“You are cold…” She placed her hand on Eivor’s forehead. “But warm to the touch. A fever perhaps…what else have you experienced?”

“I feel cold, weary…as if the warmth has been sapped from my bones. My head is fogged, my vision blurred…”

“I understand. The elixir will be ready shortly. Make yourself comfortable.” Eivor reluctantly shed Lufvina’s cloak and immediately missed the warmth it unknowingly had provided her. A shadow passed her across her vision before a bowl was thrust into her hands.

“Be careful. This brew will feel as cold as ice on your lips, yet will burn like a fire in your belly.” She’d had experienced Valka’s concoctions before and was no stranger to the peculiar effects of the elixirs she created. Bringing the bowl to her lips, she suppressed the urge to whimper in relief as ice soothed the fire in her throat before settling in her stomach and spreading a pleasant warmth throughout her limbs. She barely had a moment to hand the bowl back to Valka before her vision became blurred and her balance began to fail. Valka watched as Eivor collapsed onto the fur-covered floor with a dull thud before her gaze shifted to the fire; if the Wolf-Kissed was going to recover under her care, she would need more firewood.

\--

After she had woken her husband to tell him of Eivor’s return, Randvi had busied herself with updating the to-do list she had made months before. Most of the tasks had completed themselves except for one, final task which required her attention. She cast a quick look over her shoulder to make sure that Sigurd was comfortable before she left the Longhouse and began the short journey to Valka’s hut.

_It is good to be out here_ she remarked silently to herself. Since Eivor’s hasty departure months before, she had dedicated most of her time to healing the scars left on her husband by Fulke’s blade and poisoned tongue. It had been draining and heart-wrenching, but as she saw the light slowly return to his eyes, she knew it had been worth it.

Their first lucid conversation had taken place a week after Eivor had left on her journey to Jorvik. Soft words of apology had fallen like honey from his lips but his voice no longer had the same effect on her as it once did. She wondered whether he had suspected that was the case.

“Valka?” Her voice was met with a silence which in itself was unusual; the Seer could often be heard chanting into the early hours of the evening. She slipped through the doorway with an apology already on her lips when her eyes landed on Eivor’s still form.

“E-Eivor?!” The woman did not stir as Randvi crossed the room and dropped to her knees beside her nor did she react when shaking hands cupped her cheeks gently, her thumbs caressing flushed skin as she looked to Valka for answers.

“A cold Randvi.” The soft admission only added to her growing fear. “Nothing more.” A cold was not fatal Randvi reminded herself, a cold could be cured.

“Valka what happened?” The Seer moved aside to add more wood to the fire, watching with sympathy as Randvi’s hands moved from Eivor’s flushed cheeks to caress her forehead. Her face was clammy, her cheeks red and flushed and she seemed to shiver at the slightest gust of wind but to Randvi, she had have never looked more beautiful.

“A cold as I said.”

“What have you given her?”

“An elixir to help her sleep. I suspect this has alluded her for some time.” Emerald eyes slipped closed in despair. To think that she had sent Eivor to secure more alliances and put her before Sigurd’s temper while she herself was suffering tore at her heart. A prickle of heat at the nape of her neck drew her attention away from the sleeping drengr to the raging fire beside them and the stifling heat the embers had produced. She turned to Valka with questions on her lips but was silenced by the wave of a hand.

“She will wake when she is ready. Now that you are here, I can collect herbs for a further elixir.” Randvi barely noticed when Valka slipped away, her attention focused solely on the woman in front of her.

Soft, barely intelligible mumbles left Eivor’s mouth as she tossed and turned under the thick furs. After a few moments, the blonde seemed to return to a deep but fitful sleep leaving Randvi to watch over her with crestfallen eyes.

_I should have noticed…I should have forced you to rest…_

“Eivor…I am sorry I did not notice the pain you were in.” That wasn’t wholly true; she had noticed but she had felt powerless to prevent it. She looked away, too ashamed to look at her restless face; the blonde deserved to feel treasured and loved by those closest to her and she had made her feel alone.

“You deserve so much more than I can offer…” If it were possible, she would offer everything she possessed, everything she held dear to be able to call the woman her own but her mind drifted once more, as it often did to Sigurd and the burdens of duty. Hesitantly, almost afraid that she would disappear at her touch, she placed her hand on the soft fur covering Eivor’s heart and leaned closer. 

“I have no right to ask this of you my love but please… _please_ do not give your heart to another.” Her dreams had been haunted by this fear – of Eivor growing weary of waiting and finding love with another. It had wrenched her from sleep and left her shaking with silent tears streaming down her cheeks as her husband slept soundly. She knew it was a possibility that Eivor would move on from her, and should that day ever come she would force herself to be glad for her dearest friend, even though it would break her heart to see her happy without her.

“Please do not doubt my love for you.” Hesitant lips brushed against the corner of Eivor’s mouth, lingering for a single moment before she pulled back.

“Please do not stop loving me.”

\--

Valka had returned with the herbs just as the sun had begun to set. Randvi looked up with tear-stained eyes as the woman entered, hastily wiping her cheeks as she watched Valka prepare the elixir.

“She has not woken?”

“No.” She had spent hours watching Eivor for any sign she would wake but the drengr had clung stubbornly to sleep with no regard for the woman at her bedside.

“To be expected.” Randvi shifted aside as Valka placed her palm on Eivor’s forehead. “She is recovering well.”

“Thank Eir.”

“Indeed, it seems the All-Father is not the only one who blesses her.” Valka returned to her work as the two lapsed into a comfortable silence. Time continued to slip by until Randvi turned away, the pressing duties of her position calling her away from the bedside of her love.

“I must return to our Jarl.”

“Have no fear Randvi, Eivor will wake soon.”

With a final, desperate look Randvi forced herself from the hut to return to her place by her husband’s side.

_I pray you heard my words Eivor, I fear what would become of us if you did not…_

\--

“…dvi?”

Valka smiled as eyelids began to flutter open revealing blue eyes that looked around in confusion before landing on the Seer.

_I was sure I heard…no…just a dream…_

“Steady Eivor. I am here, it is Valka.”

“What happened?” She could remember speaking to Rowan and reporting on Jorvik but the rest was a blur of swirling colors and mist.

“How are you feeling?” She tentatively moved her arms and legs, letting herself adjust fully to wakefulness before taking a deep breath and letting the air fill and expand her lungs before facing Valka with a tired smile.

“Better, the chill has lifted from my bones.” If anything she felt uncomfortably warm under so many furs and she was quick to push them aside as the Seer fetched a cup of water. She handed it to Eivor who gratefully brought it to her lips, moaning as the cool liquid soothed her throat.

“Do you feel strong enough to stand?” She believed so. She slowly rolled to her knees and pushed herself upwards, swaying at the sudden movements but remaining standing, an achievement in her opinion.

“Thank you, my friend, I hope I did not inconvenience you?” She grinned as Valka escorted her from the hut to the Longhouse, feeling herself beam at the personal attention she received from the usually distant woman. ”You did not.”

“Eivor, you have recovered?” She looked towards the Alliance Room as Sigurd’s booming voice filled the hall. His arm reached for her and she felt the weight that had rested on her shoulders for so long lift at the sight of his gentle smile.

“Yes, I am well brother.”

“Randvi told me you were unwell but I did not realise just how sickly you were.” She scoffed at his teasing smile before looking to the woman who hovered just behind him.

“It is good to see you standing Eivor, I feared the worst.” Eivor felt her brow dip in confusion; had Randvi seen her when she had been unconscious? She vaguely remembered the scent of lavender washing over her as she walked from one vision to another but she assumed that had been a fog induced dream, a painful reminder of what she could not have.

“Eivor?” Randvi and Sigurd shared a look of concern as she blinked slowly and shook her head, clearing away thoughts and desires that would do well to remain hidden, at least for now.

“Forgive me, I am still…” the words slipped from her mind as her eyes fell on Randvi.

“Then rest, we will talk of the days to come when you have recovered.” A gentle push forced her towards her own bed, something she had longed to embrace the moment she had woken in Valka’s hut. Sparing a moment to affectionately scratch Mouse’s ear, she allowed herself to fall backward on her bed with a grateful groan.

“Comfortable?” She didn’t try to suppress the laughter that bubbled from her chest as Randvi stepped into her chambers.

“Very.” She turned to watch as Randvi hovered at the foot of the bed and fixed her with a soft smile, their eyes locking as she relaxed deeper into the furs. She felt better but there was something amiss in her mind's eyes, some …cloud that hovered at the edge of her memory.

“Randvi, when I was asleep were you…did you…” The day’s events were shrouded in a dense fog, making it hard to differentiate between fact and wishful thinking. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling as she felt the bed dip further, studying the beams as Randvi studied her.

“Did I…” Randvi prayed that Eivor had heard her words through the fog but as she watched the doubt cloud her eyes, she feared that even if she had heard them, she did not fully believe them.

“Tis nothing…forgive me, I am still weary from Valka’s potion.” Randvi tried desperately not to let her own heartbreak show as she rose from Eivor’s bed and turned to leave. She had expected this but it did not make the truth any easier to swallow. As she returned to her own chambers, she made a silent vow to herself: even if Eivor did not remember her words, she herself did and she would do anything to earn back the love she had foolishly pushed aside.


	10. Eurvicscire

The events of Eurvicscire weighed heavily on Eivor’s mind; two warriors once held in the highest regard by the other, torn apart by a poisoned chalice. She had watched as Halfdan Ragnarsson delivered the final killing blow to a man he once called a friend. A man who, for all his sins, had been a formidable warrior and confident until his actions showed his true heart. She had felt nothing but sympathy for the great man as Faravid’s corpse had been dragged from the hall, his blood permanently staining the halls he now governed as King.

Their arguments had been volcanic in their ferocity and yet in-between bouts of madness a tranquil peace had embraced them. Her father had once warned her of the madness of men; how bonds forged in blood could be severed in an instance. She had remembered his words the first winter she spent as an orphan in Stybjorn’s hall and how terrified she had been that one day she and Sigurd would turn on one another like in her father’s cautionary tale. She thought often of that night…

“Randvi? What is this?”

The woman looked weary; sunken shoulders and a face that spoke of many sleepless nights turned to her with a relieved smile. As Eivor shrugged her cloak from her shoulders (a parting gift from the woman standing before her) she stepped towards her brother’s throne.

“Another dispute I’m afraid…with Holger stirring the pot once again.”

_Gods Holger…_

The man had stood before her once before with a sheepish expression but now as she turned to face both he and Gudron, he had the look of a man confident that any ruling would be in his favour. Such arrogance grated her nerves – she was glad the duties of judgement would not fall on her shoulders now that Sigurd had returned to them.

“Will you sit in judgement?” Randvi’s voice had been soft, hesitant as if knowing that her request would not sit well with the younger woman. She watched as Eivor crossed her arm and frowned deep in thought.

“Judgements are the burden of a jarl. This is Sigurd’s duty now.” Randvi fought the urge to laugh; Sigurd had retreated into his mind the moment she had left, his vision visions and prophecies now his only concern. She had tried to focus his attentions on more earthly matters but he had lashed out with acid words and hardened eyes, leaving her too exhausted to try again. 

“He refuses to leave his chambers. Right now, you are the only noble fit for this.” Eivor glanced over her shoulder at the chamber which housed her brother with a distant expression before shaking her head. No matter his condition this was still not her duty, noble birth or not.

“I don’t know. It is not my place…”

“Please. Only until Sigurd recovers his strength.” Blue eyes dimmed under the weight of her brother’s torment. If it eased his suffering she would act in his stead.

_I am sorry that this burden must rest so heavily on you my love…_

Eivor’s shoulders dropped in resignation. “All right. Once more.” All three occupants exhaled in relief; they had each seen Sigurd’s deterioration and had their dispute not escalated they would have tried to settle it themselves. Gudron and Holger walked forward as Randvi stepped aside but not before sharing a thankful smile with Eivor.

“Gudron. Holger. Come forward.” They did so gladly, waiting for Eivor to sit upon her brother’s throne before preparing their arguments.

“You will state your cases, and I will hear you out and be as swift in my judgement as I am able.” With a prayer to Tyr, she smiled at Gudron who began detailing her side of events. Eivor found it difficult to hide her displeasure as Gudron detailed how Holger had once again taken that which did not belong to him, nor did she succeed in hiding her amusement at his defence.

She thought back to her last judgement before her mind drifted to her brother's damning assessment of her actions.

_Maybe you were right brother, maybe I was too soft…_

“Enough. After careful thought, it is clear that—”

“What is this? What are you doing?” She could not describe how she had felt in that moment when she looked back on the events over the next few days. Fear, dread, guilt, all three emotions had fought for dominance inside her stomach as she watched Sigurd storm towards her.

Stepping away from the throne he believed she coveted, she tried to appease his temper. “Holger and Gudrun are at odds. I hoped to find a resolution.”

_I hoped to find a resolution you would support brother…_

“That duty is mine alone, Eivor. You know this! Stand aside!” She did so gladly; it had never been her desire to stand where he stood – she wished he could see that.

“You were not here, brother. Nor did I wish to bother you.”

“A sallow excuse for such a bold defiance. I hope you enjoyed it.” Her cheeks burned at his dismissal; she had taken no pleasure in completing the task he himself should have completed and she desired nothing more than to say this, but a fearful look from Randvi as she appeared in the archway halted her tongue. There would be time for such talks.

“I have heard more than enough to render my judgement. For as long as I have known you, Holger, you have spun words into lies. You weaken the minds of children and deluded the minds of men. I’ve shown you too many years of tolerance. And rather than exist in grateful meekness, as Holger the Liar, you sink lower.” Eivor could see Randvi shake her head in frustration out of the corner of her eye before she slipped from the room.

“You become Holger the Thief, robbing a woman of her livelihood, all in the name of your stupid stories.”

“Sigurd Jarl…th-that is n-not –”

“This is the consequence of your actions. You will pay Gudron the value of thirty sailcloths…” Eyes widened as Sigurd’s judgement was spoken into the silent hall; One sailcloth was expensive but the expense of thirty would cripple a man and his family for generations. A hefty price for a simple story…

“Thirty times? Surely you jest! That would ruin me, Sigurd.”

“Do I look like one to play pranks Holger? Pay the fee or be exiled!”

Gudron could stay silent no longer; she had wanted justice but even she could see the madness in this ruling. “Great Jarl, if I may…I seek only compensation for a single sailcloth, the rest is—”

Sigurd’s fist pounded on the wooden throne. “Thirty times! In Silver! That is my judgement.”

_Thirty sailcloths in silver…exile would be a kinder punishment_ Eivor thought as the man began to weep. She sympathised with his plight but there was little she could do.

“Eivor, please” she clenched her fists as she felt the weight of Sigurd’s stare on her shoulders, her heart pounding as Holger pleaded with her. “…does this not seem unfair?

It was as if she was standing in the court of Halfdan Jarl once more, watching events borne from madness unfold before her eyes.

Holger begged for his livelihood where Faravid had reasoned for his life…

Sigurd dispensed injustice where Halfdan jarl had dispensed revenge…

Both victims had looked to her for aid…

Both leaders had looked to her to reinforce their rulings…

Eivor knew the cost of disrespect; she had known it for some time but that did not make looking Holger in the eye any easier.

“Sigurd is our Jarl.” Her words rang out clearly. “His word is law, whether or not you agree.”

She spared a look for Sigurd who appeared pleased with her support which only made her more resentful of the situation she had been forced into. She longed to leave this hall and its injustice far behind her but she owed it to Holger to see the matter through. She watched as Gudron led the broken man from the hall, his cries echoing in her ears as Sigurd stood.

“See to it that judgement is carried out exactly as I have said.” She balked under his gaze. “Should the need arise again, do not fail to rouse me.” Her eyes followed him as he left the hall.

_So I am to be the hand that enforces your grip brother…_

Waiting until Sigurd’s steps had retreated into his chambers, she walked to retrieve the chest which contained her share of the horde gifted to her by Faravid. Placing it on the edge of the table, she undid the leather straps and pushed back the lid as her eyes landed on silver and jewels.

‘Treasures fit for a King.” She had tried to decline when Halfdan had forced the chest into her arms but he had dismissed her protests, grateful for the chance to heap silver onto the drengr who had cleared the cobwebs from his mind after so long.

She had begun pulling coins and purses from the chest when her fingers had brushed against something cold. Cold, metallic, and soft. With a furrowed brow, she gripped the goblet and pulled it free, holding it in front of her eyes as she took in its craftmanship with the eye of one who knew it’s true worth.

She wasn’t sure how it had came into her possession; a parting gift or a fatal reminder for what awaits betrayal? Perhaps it best that she did not know – to search for hidden meanings would surely lead her down the same path of Halfdan.

Soft footsteps slowly grew louder but she did not dare look away from the lead goblet in her grasp, transfixed by the simplicity of the poisonous object.

“Beautiful.” Eivor nodded absentmindedly as Randvi sat opposite her. If she had known Sigurd would react as he did, she would never have asked Eivor to intervene; she would never have put such a burden on Eivor’s shoulders.

“I want to thank you for your judgement, Eivor. For stepping in when Sigurd would not. In spite of what happened.” Eivor did not react right away, her gaze still on the goblet as the beginnings of an idea began to form in her mind.

“Eivor?”

“Hmm?” Their eyes briefly met over the table before Eivor glanced at the archway. “Oh, Randvi… Forgive me, I was elsewhere.”

“Of course. Is everything alright?” Her eyes narrowed in concern as Eivor began placing the silver back into the chest before tightly locking it. To her surprise Eivor, pushed the chest underneath the table before grabbing the goblet and turning to Randvi.

“Will you ask Rowan to ready my horse?” Her heart sank; only arriving moments ago and now looking to leave?

“I…Of course b-but why—” Eivor smiled in gratitude before leaving Randvi to stare after her with a confused expression marring her usually calm features.

\--

“Octavian?

“Salve Eivor!” The self-proclaimed collector of Roman artifacts appeared from behind a bust he had been studying, quickly wiping his hands on his tunic before approaching her.

“I have something that may be of interest to you.” Reaching behind her, she pulled the goblet from her belt and held it out to him.

“Is that...it is!” He reached for the goblet as excited babbles left his lips just as Eivor pulled her hand away.

“I would be willing to sell this to you--”

“Name your price.” Eivor paused; she did not know how rare the item was but she could not let Octavian obtain it for too low a price – that would defeat the point of her visit. Thankfully her silence seemed to work in her favour, as Octavian interpreted it as hesitation.

“I can pay handsomely – as much silver as you can carry.” She considered the offer carefully before she agreed, handing the goblet over with a sigh of relief – she was glad that someone would be able to find pleasure in an object which only brought her memories of treachery.

She waited impatiently for Octavian to return with the silver he had promised, casting glances over her shoulder every few minutes until finally, she had all she required.

“You know this metal? It will madden a man if it touches your lips.”

“Yes, yes Eivor I am well aware of the properties.” Cradling his new find as a mother would cradle a new-born babe, he disappeared behind statues and mosaics.

“A pleasure Eivor! If you come across any other artifacts please keep me in mind.”

“Farewell friend.”

She hauled the chest onto her shoulder and turned towards the house just behind the Longhouse. She needed to be careful; if Sigurd found about her plan his vengeance would be swift and brutal, but that was a risk she was willing to take.

“Holger.” Her heart wrenched as she took in his fragile appearance, guilt clawing at her throat as he approached with open hands.

“I do not have the coin Eivor! I am coinless!” Placing the chest at his feet, she placed her hands on his shoulders and squeezed gently. They two had never seen eye to eye but she had grown to enjoy his company, especially when the ale freely flowed.

“Peace Holger. No debts will be collected today.” He sagged against her in relief before turning and sitting by the hearth with his head in his hands.

“What will I do Eivor – I will be ruined!” Eivor paid no attention to his lamenting as she looked around his lodgings, her eyes searching for something, anything with a degree of value. She sighed in frustration; there was nothing that could help either of them accept…

“Holger, will you sell me this?” He looked up as Eivor reached for the cloak broach discarded on the table. It was simplistic in its design, hardly worth anything but to Eivor it was perfect.

“It will be no use to me when I have to sell my cloaks…keep it.” She rolled her eyes at his self-deprecating comment before pocketing the broach and kicking the chest at her feet.

“A fair price for such a treasure. Farewell.” She strolled from the building just as Holger opened the chest, smiling to herself as his started gasp followed her out the door. It would not clear his debts, but it would certainly help. He stared with wide, tearful eyes at Eivor as she walked towards the stables; he did not know what she had done but he knew the personal risk she took in helping him. He would not soon forget it.

\--

Randvi paced back and forth as she waited for Rowan to finish preparing Eivor’s mount for another journey. He had looked displeased at her request but not enough to stop him from dragging a final brush through her tail.

“Eivor please do not travel far – your horse needs just as much rest as you!”

The drengr affectionately nuzzled her horses’ neck before smiling at Rowan. “We will not stray far I promise.” Randvi bit her lip as Eivor turned to face her with a soft smile.

“We?”

“A short trip Randvi, not far. Maybe to Grantebridge? What do you say?” Memories of their last trip to Grantebridge warmed Randvi’s cheeks, forcing her to look away before Rowan saw. It had been so long since she had left the boundaries of their settlement, forced to stay behind as others ventured forth into new lands.

“Unless you do not wish to?” She had never heard Eivor sound so unsure of herself. She knew she should decline but there was something about the way Eivor’s eyes shone when they looked at her. She was powerless to resist, she always had been.

“A short visit sounds lovely Eivor.” She couldn’t help but smile as she waited for Eivor to mount her horse before she gripped her outstretched hand and settled behind her. They two rode through the settlement quickly, disappearing through the trees as Randvi released the breath she did not know she had been holding.

Away from prying eyes, she allowed her gaze to roam over the form of the warrior in front of her. A sparkle of gold caught her attention and before Eivor could bat away her hands she had fished into her cloak and removed the clasp.

“Is this Holger’s?” She had remembered seeing it on the table when she had last visited.

“Ja.” Eivor couldn’t help but feel anxious; would Randvi approve of her deceitful trick or would she be frustrated at her meddling?

“Why do you have it?”

“He sold it to me…” Randvi’s confused expression morphed into one of immense pride as the realisation struck her. She had disagreed with Sigurd’s ruling as she knew Eivor also would, but to take such a risk to right that injustice left her weak with adoration.

Their bustling settlement soon because a distant memory as they rode through the fields. Randvi’s hands gripped her thighs tightly; being this close but not being able to touch Eivor was maddening, too maddening. Slowly, so as not to startle her, she raised her hands and wrapped them around Eivor’s waist, pulling herself against the woman as she breathed deeply. A soft gasp escaping Eivor’s lips filled Randvi with confidence and she leaned forward, resting her chin on Eivor’s shoulder.

Eivor shuddered as she felt Randvi’s breath caressing her ear, sparks dancing across her skin as she urged her horse forward, intent on reaching their destination as quickly as possible.

“Eivor.” Her name whispered so reverently caused Eivor’s eyes to flutter shut as desire shot through her, images of the last time she heard her name spoken so softly overwhelming her. She gripped her reigns tighter, trying to ignore the way it felt to be held by the woman again after so many empty night.

“The sunken tower…” It was risky bringing the object of her desires here; memories of that one day clung to the air and set her ablaze as they dismounted.

“I hoped you would not mind.” They stared up at the ruins as they had done months before, both filled with the same longing they had felt then.

“I want a view from the top Eivor.” Her voice was hushed, barely loud enough to be heard over the rushing waterfall.

“Lead on.” The two shared a secretive smile before diving into the cool water, breaking through the surface a few feet from each other before swimming towards the tower. As before, Eivor was awe-struck by the woman in soaked furs; her strength and determination made it impossible not to admire her.

The view was even more breath-taking than Randvi remembered; fields that were bathed in a golden light stretched out in front of them while wisps of cloud slowly crossed the sky. Eivor stood by her side and the two stared ahead for a few moments before the drengr sat down by the edge. Her legs dangled over the edge and she peered down into the water below; it was impossible to feel anything but small this high up.

“Stunning.”

“Yes…” Randvi couldn’t help but agree as she inched closer to Eivor, their arms brushing against one another as they basked in the opportunity of simply being together, away from their burdens and responsibilities.

“I am sorry about Sigurd.” Randvi hated to bring him up, here of all places, but she felt she must if only to assure Eivor that Sigurd’s outbursts were not caused by her own actions. She regrated mentioning his name even more when Eivor simply sighed before lying back on the stones to stare at the sky.

A moment of hesitation passed before Randvi joined her.

“I have never known him to be so angry, reckless.” She had seen her brother frustrated, bitter but never cruel. “Is that a side you have seen?” She prayed the answer was no, unsure what she would do if she found out Randvi had been the subject of his temper whilst she had been away. Sensing her quiet concern, Randvi entwined their fingers but kept her eyes locked on a cloud that had drifted over them. 

“Rarely. There have been moments when he was distressed, worried, afraid. But nothing like this.” She had spent so little time with her husband over their short marriage that she could remember each moment clearly. “Never, ever, like this.”

They lapsed into an uneasy silence as thoughts of Sigurd weighed heavily on their mind. This was not how Eivor wished to spend their few precious moments. Forcing thoughts of her brother aside, she rolled onto her side to face Randvi, her eyes flickering to her lips before she forced herself to look away.

“Eivor…” She reached for the woman, her hand slowly stroking her cheek as blue eyes closed at her touch. She had spent so many nights imagining this moment; how Eivor would react to her touch, the way she would whisper her name – it was almost too much. Almost. But like every dream, it had to end no matter how much she wished it did not.

Eivor’s eyes opened as she felt Randvi withdraw from her, a nervous frown replacing the blissful smile she had worn seconds ago.

“I am sorry.” She whispered as Eivor’s heart dropped.

From the moment she had first kissed Randvi, she had known that the woman could break her, destroy her, leave her a ghost of the person she had been. She had accepted that risk gladly but silently hoped that such a day would never come. She feared that it now had.

She watched Randvi sit up and rest her head on her crossed arms before staring at the horizon with a distance in her eyes.

“I am sorry that I cannot give all of myself to you.”

“Randvi…?” She forced herself to stay still even though every part of her yearned to reach out and gather the woman in her arms.

“I have been cruel…unfair.” Her eyes were wet with tears but she did not care. “I have pushed you away when you did not deserve it.”

“You had to. I do not begrudge you that.” Every rejection, every missed opportunity had been agonising but Eivor had simply accepted it, never once blaming Randvi for what had to happen.

“I put Sigurd’s health above yours…”

“He is your husband Randvi. As much as I wish that was not so, your duty should be to him above all others.”

Frantic hands brushed through red hair as she tried desperately to make Eivor see sense. She burned for her; every waking moment was spent yearning for Eivor but she could do nothing to fulfill her desires, not yet. She had spent the last few weeks agonising over her decision to keep Eivor waiting for a future that may never happen until finally, she had come to a heartbreaking decision. One she had known would be difficult for either of them to accept.

“It is not fair to you Eivor- “

“It is not fair to either of us my love.” A desperate sob slipped from Randvi’s throat as she turned to face Eivor, devastation painted on her face. Why was she making this so difficult?

“ _I cannot have you!”_ The words broke the spell holding Eivor captive, urging her to reach for Randvi and pull her close. Her fingers slipped through auburn hair as the other woman clung to her, harsh sobs wracking her frame as Eivor held her tight.

“We hope for so many things in this life.” She pulled away just enough to stare into Randvi’s eyes. “Yet we earn so few of them.” Her fingers played with a stray strand of hair, twirling it around her finger before tucking it behind her ear. “If I must wait, I will wait. I will earn your love, Randvi.”

A sad smile graced her features before her fingers lightly held her chin, tipping her face gently before tentative lips brushed against hers. It was so unlike the kiss they had shared months ago, full of longing, heartache, and sadness but as Randvi shivered in Eivor’s arms, she poured every ounce of love, devotion and loyalty into their brief kiss.

“I…I am sorry.” Her cheeks darkened as she wiped away her tears.

“No need to apologise.” She felt every need; she had toyed with the woman for months, let her think that she did not love her then fell apart in her arms.

_What must you think of me Eivor…_

“We should return.” Eivor muttered as a feeling of weariness settled over her. These recent days had broken her body and spirit.

“Not yet…please. It has been so long.” Snatched moments in the alliance room had not nearly been enough for either woman. Eivor smiled before leaning back against the stone wall, opening her arms to Randvi who readily fell against her.

They sat in silence, their breaths filling the space between them as the sun dipped lower in the sky. Eivor’s fingers trailed lightly up and down Randvi’s arm, lulling the woman into a state of contentment. When she was certain the woman had calmed, she leaned close and whispered a sentence which filled Randvi with hope.

“Please do not doubt my love for you Randvi…Please do not stop loving me.” The words forced a started laugh from her chest and she turned to stare in wonder at the drengr.

“You…you heard me.”

“I did.” Stunned silence gripped the woman for a few moments before a ripple of laughter spread through her. It was not long before Eivor was laughing along with her, their mirth chasing away the loneliness and despair they had felt for so long.

“We must still act as we have.” Eivor whispered when their laughter had faded away. “But know this, however far away I am from your side, you are always in my thoughts.”

“I know. As you are in my heart.”

The times ahead would be difficult and trying and there would still be moments when doubt robbed them of joy and sleep, but as Randvi leaned backwards into Eivor’s embrace, the drengr hoped that the words softly spoken at the sunken tower would be enough to sustain them. 


	11. Essexe

Eivor’s return to Ravensthorpe had been overshadowed by the arrival of Ubba Ragnarsson: famed warrior son of Ragnar Lodbrok. He had arrived unexpectedly, strolling into the Longhouse with eager words on his lips as he embraced Randvi and Sigurd. The Raven Clan had been honoured by his presence in the camp he himself had occupied a few short years ago and had immediately begun organising a feast in his name, one that would rival anything he had seen before. He had been hesitant to accept their invitation, not wanting to burden them so close to winter but when Randvi received word that Eivor would return by nightfall, he had felt no guilt in filling his horn with ale and feasting into the night as he waited for the Wolf-Kissed to arrive.

When Eivor eventually stepped from the Longboat, her cloak soaked from the rain and wind which forever lashed these shores, she felt she had stepped into Odin’s hall. Her eyes had grown wide as barrels of ale were carried by tipsy raiders into the Longhouse whilst Yan-Li and Tarben carried overflowing plates of bread and spices.

“So this is your settlement?” Rollo called as he joined her to watch the bustling activity. After seeing Estrid safely across the river towards the open sea, he had gladly taken up the offer to rest and recover away from Essexe. Eivor had been glad to welcome him; his youthful energy and charming smile was a balm to her frayed nerves.

“Come Rollo, my clan throws a feast that would rival anything you have seen in Essexe.” They walked towards the Longhouse, only stopping to allow Petra and her brother to pass them. They strolled past, cheerfully smiling at them both as they each carried a boar each on their shoulders. The beasts were an impressive sight to behold and she felt her mouth water at the thought of devouring them around a roaring hearth.

Rollo whistled as he saw the size of the animals “Not even old Birstan could catch such beasts.” Mentions of the Ealdorman made Eivor pause; the events of Essexe weighed on her mind but not for obvious reasons. She had arrived in the ancient city expecting to slaughter men of noble birth but instead had been tasked with a …curious duty: reunite the Ealdorman with his childhood sweetheart and kidnap his wife so she could return to the land of her birth. It had been one of the easiest alliances she had secured, but the most taxing on her mind. She was a warrior; skilled in combat and death – not a matchmaker.

“Get a move on Eivor; if there is ale to be drunk and meat to feast upon I want to get started!” She smiled as she watched Rollo stroll towards the Longhouse with a cheerful song on his lips; for all his ignorance he possessed an element of confidence which Eivor had identified with – now if only she could keep him away from any brothels... 

She picked up her pace as sparks from Thor’s hammer began to split the sky, reaching for the door just as it flew open to reveal a startled Randvi. The two stared at each other for a few seconds before Randvi grinned, her eyes sparkling with happiness and relief.

“Eivor, you have returned! And you are not alone it seems.” Rollo was transfixed by the other woman, his mouth opening and closing several times before a sharp jab to the stomach from Eivor snapped him from his stupor. His lips curved into a charismatic smile as he dropped into a low bow.

“This is Rollo, a sturdy fighter who was an asset in Essexe.” Randvi dipped her head in greeting.

“Greetings Rollo. I am Randvi, wife to Sigurd Jarl.” Eivor’s lips curled into an amused smile as she watched Rollo visibly deflate in front of them; it was a face she had seen many times when introducing Randvi as the wife of her brother- the effect her smile had on the hearts of others was striking. The woman smiled softly before turning to Eivor with an amused look in her eye.

“Ubba Ragnarsson will be pleased to see you. He arrived a few days ago—”

“Ubba Ragnarsson! Son of the famed Ragnor Lodbrok?” Eivor nodded, her eyes never leaving Randvi’s as Rollo charged through the door and loudly announced his arrival. The resulting cheer filled Eivor with joy; Rollo would fit in nicely among her clan.

“A new friend of yours my love?” The drengr shivered as Randvi leaned close, her breath tickling the side of her cheek as she brushed her fingers down Eivor’s arm.

“Randvi… are you drunk?”

She laughed softly. “Perfectly sober, just pleased to see you.” It was true; when they had received news that Eivor was likely to return home that evening Randvi had made sure to avoid any mead and ale; she wanted to remember every precious moment spent with Eivor after she had been away so long.

Eivor felt her cheeks warm as Randvi continue to stare up at her with a softness in her eyes. It would have been so easy to tilt her head and capture her lips in a soft kiss but both knew that could not happen, not yet at least.

“Come, Sigurd will be pleased you have returned.” Eivor did not fully believe her words but she trusted Randvi’s judgment and so forced her head high as she walked into the Longhouse. It seemed the entire clan was present under the Longhouses roof. With a whispered apology on her lips, Randvi slipped from her side and strolled towards Petra and Rowan, leaving the woman to watch her from afar as she felt her heart clench at her absence.

“Eivor.” Her eyes scanned the crowded hall before finally landing on Sigurd who had been in conversation with Ubba. His mood was calm, his eyes bright and clear; he looked just as he had before leaving Norway, almost as if the last few months had not happened at all. She wondered how long it would last…

“Sigurd. Ubba Ragnarsson.” The two clasped hands tightly as Sigurd slipped away. He knew he was not acting as Jarl should but he had grown weary of tales of glory and longed for nothing but his own company.

“You are a long way from your king’s side.” Mercia was a fair distance to travel by horse or boat but it was an enjoyable journey if the weather was on your side. Her eyes subconsciously slipped to Randvi, silently vowing to take her there when she could.

“Eivor.” Her attention slipped back to Ubba who thankfully had not noticed her lapse in concentration. “Yes. A long stroll through the fields and hills of Mercia. All so I could thank you.” She frowned in confusion – she could not recall anything, event or deed, which would have earned Ubba’s gratitude.

“Thank me?”

She waited in suspense as he filled his ale horn, draining its contents in three deep pulls before turning to her once more.

“For sending my brother to his just reward, in spite of the harm he caused you and everyone around you.” Her gaze dropped to her own horn tightly clenched in her fist. “I could not keep him in line in this life. But I have no doubt the All-Father will put him to good use in the next.”

She could remember every moment, every agonising second of her fight with Ivaar despite the months that had passed. How her heart raced as he slipped through her fingers over and over, the scent of sweat clinging to the air as they pushed and pulled, striking and deflecting, the taste of iron on her lips as she finally struck the killing blow. Wherever Ivaar was now, be it Helheim or the halls of Odin, she hoped he had found in death what he craved in life.

“A darkness followed your brother; one I am not sure he understood. But as you say, he is now where he belongs.”

His response was interrupted by cheers coming from the far side of the hall and they watched with amusement as Hytham, Tekla and Holger climbed onto a table and began dancing. _There will be sore heads tomorrow_ , Eivor thought to herself before looking again to Ubba.

“He is. And as a show of thanks, I came to offer you a gift. A token of my respect.” Ubba pulled forth a silver ring, the polished metal catching the light as he placed it gently in her palm. It was a stunning gift but not one she felt she deserved.

“I…thank you Ubba.” A heavy hand clapped her shoulder and she smiled meekly, unaccustomed to receiving such tokens- a bow, a new axe maybe but not a ring.

“Put it to good use Wolf-Kissed.” As she rolled the ring between her fingers, she could think of only one use for such a beautiful piece. As Ubba drained his horn a final time, she slipped the ring into the pouch at her side and made a mental note to speak to Gunnar in the morning. It was a worthy ring but it was not perfect, not for what she hoped to use it for one day.

“Now.” He slammed his horn onto the table before rising from his seat and striding towards the center of the hall. Conversations immediately dulled as Ubba raised his arms and voice.

“Warriors of the Raven Clan! Lend me your ears for I have a tale to share.” Eivor leaned back as his words began to fill the room; having heard this story many times before she felt no guilt in retreating into her thoughts to dwell on the events of Essexe.

“You have a concerning look Eivor. Has something happened?” She shook her head to clear her thoughts before smiling up at Randvi, the weight in her stomach disappearing now the woman was by her side once more. 

“No, merely reflecting on recents events.” The woman dropped into the seat left vacant by Ubba and waited patiently for Eivor to share her thoughts.

“In Essexe, I played a matchmaker and a heartbreaker. An easy way to forge an alliance.” Even though it had been a welcome distraction she had longed for the simplicity of violence; of solving her problems with an axe rather than honeyed words.

“A heartbreaker? Whose heart did you break?” Eivor paused - she had been anxious about telling Randvi about Estrid, unsure how the woman would react if she learned she had been propositioned by another woman. The seconds stretched into minutes and still, Randvi waited patiently, refusing to put pressure on Eivor to share more than she was willing to give despite the rising panic she felt. She and Eivor had never discussed the possibility that the drengr may meet another, the thought too painful for Randvi to dwell on for more than a second. But Eivor was not bound to her as she was bound to Sigurd; she could do nothing to stop her from warming the bed of someone she herself would never meet.

“The wife of the Ealdorman.” Randvi unfortunately had taken a sip of ale just as Eivor had spoken, her shock at Eivor’s confession making her cough and splutter as her eyes watered. As the words registered in her mind, she felt as if her heart had been wrenched from her chest and she was sure that her eyes green eyes reflected the despair she now felt.

Her eyes flickered to the exit; she couldn’t sit here as Eivor confessed to laying with another yet she was unable to move.

“You and …her?”

“No.” Eivor spoke with such force that Randvi felt compelled to listen. “No Randvi, we did not lay together. I swear it.” Randvi gripped the table tightly as relief overwhelmed her, her vision blurring against tears she could not afford to shed.

“Come, let me explain.” Eivor stood from the table and beckoned for Randvi to follow, quickly leading them through crowds of raiders much as she had done during the feast following Birna’s arrival , cringing as she passed Rollo who was describing how they had met.

“She opened the door, bowed to the Saxon bastard, ushered him inside then slammed the door in his face!”

“Your handiwork I assume?” Randvi asked, lips pulling at the sight of reddened cheeks.

They fell into step as they approached the furthest part of their settlement, the night air clearing away the effects of the ale as they approached the waterfall. The two sat side by side, eyes hesitantly meeting in the darkness as Eivor tried to force her jumbled thoughts into a sentence that would not give the wrong impression.

“Estrid was the Ealdorman’s wife.” She began. Her fingers reached out to grip Randvi’s hand, smiling in relief as the woman intertwined their fingers and squeezed gently.

“But she was trapped in a marriage that had given her nothing but pain and hardship.”

Randvi’s eyes dimmed in sympathy for the woman. A loveless marriage was not an easy thing to endure, she knew that better than most. Her eyes flickered to Eivor's as the woman gently brushed her cheek with her fingers, a jagged sigh slipping from her mouth as Randvi turned to place a delicate kiss against her fingertips. Not caring that anyone could find them, Randvi leaned into Eivor’s touch and let her words surround her. “I helped free her from that life so she could start anew. That is how I met Rollo. He wished to see her happy, free of the marital bonds she shared with a man she did not love.”

Only now, sat in the silence with Randvi by her side did Eivor truly see the parallels between their path and the events of Essexe. It was too similar, too close to her own heart to be a coincidence …

“Do you think she will be happy? After leaving everything behind?” Randvi’s hushed question hung in the air, electrifying the space between them as she waited for Eivor to reassure her.

“I hope so. I hope she will not regret the decisions she had made.” Her gaze fell to the water as the full weight of her own words struck at a fear she had not known she possessed until that very moment. What if Randvi one day regretted being with Eivor? What if she did not live up to her oaths and left her with nothing but broken promises? The thought that her actions and callous words could one day destroy what she was fighting so hard to deserve terrified her.

The feeling of Randvi’s thumb gently stroking the back of her hand pulled her back from a place she did not wish to be.

“She will not regret it.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, her breath caressing Eivor’s lips as she hesitated just out of her reach.

“Nor will I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was soooo hard to write! My god Randvi give me something more than "Understood, Thank you Eivor!"


	12. Snotinghamscire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change!

News of Hemming Jarl’s passing reached the Raven Clan several days after the final breath had left his body. Although many did not know him personally, Hemming Jarl’s left behind a legacy that many could only aspire to achieve. He was a remarkable man, worthy of the songs sung in his name who would be welcomed into Odin’s hall with open arms.

Randvi took a deep breath as she hesitated on the other side of her chambers, her gaze landing on the still form of her husband. Although the letter she received from Eivor had been brief, the words hastily written had portrayed a level of grief she had not seen from the younger woman in quite some time. As she let the seconds slip by unhindered, she brushed the pad of her thumb across the ink just as she would have brushed her thumb across Eivor’s cheek had they been together.

“Sigurd.” Her husband did not stir as she stepped into their chambers but she knew he was awake; she had grown used to seeing his shoulders stiffen whenever he heard her voice no matter how kind and sympathetic her words were.

“Eivor has sent word from Snotinghamscire…Hamming Jarl has passed.” She hoped that news of his death would trigger some form of reaction whether it be anger or sadness; anything but the stoic silence he had adopted when in her presence. Seconds passed with no evidence that he had heard her and she gritted her teeth, frustration spilling over as she moved around their bed to stand over him.

“Sigurd, as Jarl of this clan you should attend.” His silence was infuriating, filling her with a blinding resentment that continued to swell as his gaze remained fixed on the far wall. Eivor had once pleaded with her to be patient with him, to give him time to recover from his experiences and she had done so at the expense of her own sanity. She had briefly wondered when he was first returned to them whether he would ever recover but she had kept such thoughts to herself, not wishing to dampen the light that had only just returned to Eivor’s ice-blue eyes. Now, months later, she knew in her heart he would never be the man he once was.

She threw the letter onto her pillow before storming from the room. “There are many who wish to pay their respects Sigurd.” She snapped. “I being one of them. I pray you join us when you have recovered _husband.”_ The barely disguised distain in her voice echoed through the room but still, Sigurd did not react, too lost in visions of the past to notice that his wife had left.

\--

“The air from Thor’s lungs is strong Randvi, it will not take us long to cross the rivers of England.” She smiled tightly as Sunniva took her chest and placed it into the well of the Longboat, covering it with a tarp to protect the weathered wood from the rain.

 _Good,_ she thought bitterly. _Every moment we wait is another moment spent trapped in this life._

No one had been surprised to see Randvi waiting by the edge of the docks with her chest in tow and her thickest cloak draped over her shoulders but they had been surprised to see her standing alone. Hemming Jarl had been as much as a father to Sigurd as he had to Eivor and yet he showed no signs of leaving his chambers – a fact not missed by his clan.

Randvi stepped aside as Rollo passed with a bundle of furs which were placed by the figurehead – no doubt to keep their Jarlskona comfortable throughout the journey. Her smile dimmed; she had been a wildling once - she did not need special measures to be taken on her account.

“Will Sigurd be joining us?” Anxious eyes looked to the Longhouse which contained the slumbering giant that was Sigurd Jarl. The Raiders had only seen fragments of Sigurd’s temper over the past seasons, having been protected from his full wrath by Randvi and Eivor and they were not eager to entertain his mood swings throughout the long journey.

“No. My husband is…not well.” The raiders shared a concerned look as they continued preparing the Longboat and it was hard for Randvi to tell whether their concern was for their Jarl, or the woman who now sailed with them away from a tumultuous marriage. Emerald eyes glanced up and down the river as the final inspection of the hull was completed, excitement slowly building in her chest until she felt she would burst.

The sound of firm footsteps crunching on gravel darkened her mood and made her flinch. She waited for the steps to grow louder before she turned with a stony expression, expecting to meet her husband’s wild eyes. Instead, she felt her shoulders dip in relief as Basim stood by her side, both silently watching the movements of the raiders.

“The water is calm; your voyage should be a gentle one.” Basim muttered as Birna passed him by with a barrel of mead firmly held in her arms. The invitation to attend Hemming Jarl’s funeral had been extended to everyone, and whilst fascinated by Norse funeral rites, Basim had elected to stay behind, offering himself as a pillar of strength to Sigurd should he require it.

“I thought you Sigurd.”

“I am sorry that I am not Randvi. Your Jarl is resting but he wishes you well on your journey.”

_Does he…or do you place words in his mouth to soften his silence?_

The thunder of shields being secured against the side of the ship drew their attention. “If we are to leave let us leave!” Rollo shouted, keen to set sail away from this dreary place.

Sunniva watched Randvi bid farewell to Basim as suspicion again presented itself in her mind. She had seen the way Basim had watched Eivor with a calculating gaze, his stare unyielding and secretive as if he possessed knowledge of the Wolf-Kissed even she did not know. Vowing to speak to Eivor of her concerns, she took her position by the front of the vessel, her hands tightly gripping the oar as she waited for her fellow raiders to settle. Eivor’s lieutenant, a quiet man with a steely look in his eyes slipped the rope from around the dragon figurehead that had secured the ship before holding out his hand to the Jarlskona.

She took it gratefully as the boat swayed under her feet. As she looked around the cramped boat that would be her home for at least several days her eyes landed on the seat left empty for her. The stubborn streak she had possessed as a child and suppressed as an adult flickered like a flame inside her, convincing her to lean against the figurehead instead. 

“Let us be off!” She called before gripping the rope tied around the figurehead and leaning into the wind, her smile wide and carefree as the oars slipped through the water and dragged them away from the familiar trees and green fields.

“Who has a tale to share?” Birna called as their boat glided into deeper waters. She herself had a fair few which had not seen the light of day but she was saving them for time when they could properly celebrate her victories with meat and ale. The raiders dragged their oars from the water and stored them by their seats as Bragi’s voice rang clear.

“There was a woman called Nal who came by Fornburg unheralded, demanding to meet King Sigvaldi, Styrbjorn’s father.”

Birna and Rollo each took a rope and hoisted the sail, securing it tightly before dropping into their seats as Bragi continued.

“Nal was from Gautland. She was tall and rugged and strong…” His voice was carried away by the wind as Randvi pressed her cheek to the wood, images of another strong warrior filling her mind as she imagined their reunion in the days to come; visions of Eivor taking her into her arms and peppering teasing kisses along her neck left her weak with a hunger that could never be quenched, forcing her to take the vacant seat she had ignored before.

“Everyone who walked near her said she smelled of men’s blood.” The water lapped gently against the side of the boat, the sound filling Randvi’s ears and making it difficult to concentrate.

_Eivor does not smell of blood…wood perhaps…earthy…like a forest_

“When her message was sent to our King, Nal was made to wait a full day. Yet she did not complain.”

 _Eivor would complain…she hates being kept waiting, even by a King…_ The boat rocked with the waves, its gentle movements adding to the heaviness of Randvi’s eyes.

“She watched the waves and sang songs. Night came and went, and still Nal sat by the shore of the fjord, singing her songs.”

_Eivor has a lovely voice…could charm the larks from the sky…perhaps that is how Sunin came to be her companion…_

“As the afternoon of the second day approached, King Sigvaldi’s messenger reappeared. They spoke quietly together. At last, the messenger stood back and waved to some men nearby. Three men bearing three chests of silver approached quickly.” A hush fell over the Longboat as they leaned forward in anticipation.

“They set the chests of silver in Nal’s ship and stood back. Then Nal stepped forward, swinging a large bloodied sack before her. Nal opened the sack and emptied it on the shore. Seven pairs of hands tumbled to the ground. Nal then mounted her ship and sailed away.” The raiders banged their axes against the wood in approval of Bragi’s bloodied tale before they lapsed into silence, enjoying the quiet for a few moments before Sunniva pointed to the shore.

“The tower I told you about is through that clearing Randvi.” The Jarlskona bit her lip as she was assaulted by memories of her and Eivor’s visits to the tower she now considered to be theirs.

“Beautiful.” The landscape continued to shift around them as they sailed through the rivers; golden leaves falling into the water as they sailed under overgrown trees that caught the sunlight, bathing them in light as they sailed towards Snotinghamscire.

\--

“Vili?” Eivor stuck her head around the entryway of Hemming Jarl’s chambers, her heart heavy as she took in the hunched shoulders of her old friend. There was a heaviness to his eyes which Eivor knew well.

_Poor man, I should get him out of this room…_

Her cautious steps echoed off the wooden floor as she approached him with eyes that mirrored his grief. Hemming Jarl had taught her many things before leaving for England; how to be strong when she felt weak, how to lead raiders into battle, how to outwit her enemies - all lessons her father would have taught her if the fates had been kind.

“The nobles have begun to arrive.” Her voice was strong and clear as she stepped closer to the man who looked back at her with downcast eyes. “Trygve needs our help to see this through.” Vili continued wringing his hands together as his gaze shifted from Eivor to his fathers’ bed.

“I…I…”

“Do not rush. We will be at the funeral pyre, overlooking the village.” He nodded in gratitude as Eivor slipped from the room, walking with grim determination through the hall and into the blinding sunlight.

The snow-covered stones surrounding the Longhouse reminded her of the harbor at the edge of her old village, but unlike her childhood home, now abandoned and forgotten, the shire bustled with life. Walking towards the wooden barricades guarding the southern entrance to the town she allowed herself to think back on the days of her youth, spent hunting deer with Sigurd and playing pretend with Vili.

_Innocent times, those days are lost to me as you Hemming Jarl, are lost to us now._

Trygve had told her to head for the highest peak of the mountains – a place named Odin’s peak. It was impossible to miss the snow-covered mountain rising from the depths of the earth and casting a shadow over the valley – a fitting resting place for one so beloved. As she began the walk up the mountain, her mind wondered as it often did to Ravensthorpe. She wondered whether they had received her summons yet and if so, whether her brother had shed a tear for their shared loss.

She forced Sigurd from her mind with a monumental effort; her brother had occupied her thoughts for too long, blinding her to everything but his health and happiness - Sigurd would not benefit from her thoughts now but others could.

Eivor nodded to the few people she recognised as she neared Hemming Jarl’s funeral pyre, sympathy shining in her eyes as they discussed the future of the shire.

“Should a new threat to Hemthorpe emerge, who will step up to meet the challenge? Vili? I am not sure…”

She frowned as her thoughts drifted to Hemming’s final request. To carry the burdens of an entire shire, of an entire clan, required shoulders which were willing the bear the load. Vili had made it clear that he did not wish to lead, even though tradition robbed him of any choice. She would never admit to this out load but Eivor felt she understood his position better than most; she had spent months acting as Jarl for her people when she had doubted her own fitness to perform the role. 

_Heavy are the shoulders that carry the world Vili…_

Her eyes widened at the structure ahead of her; barely finished yet it towered over them like the trunk of Yggdrasil.

_A worthy pyre for Hemming Jarl. His journey to the halls will be heralded by roaring flames._

“Eivor…” The man she had known since she had been very young looked to have aged 10 years in the space of a few days; the duty of honouring his Jarl resting heavily on his shoulders.

She stood by his side as they surveyed Hemsthorpe; its impressive size made even more impressive by the fact that it had been a recent accomplishment – three winters back this land had been as nature had left it.

“A worthy pyre Trygve. He would be touched to know he was so beloved.”

“Ja, it will be worthy when it is finished.” He patted the timbers affectionately before a tired smile broke out across his face.

“Drengr…”

_Sunniva…I am glad you are here._

“Well met Sunn—” Her eyes widened in surprise as Randvi appeared over the hill, a hesitant but eager smile gracing her features as she and Sunniva joined them by the pyre.

“Randvi!” Soft smiles were exchanged before Randvi turned to Trygve who seemed equally surprised by her appearance.

“Trygve.” She clasped her hands and bowed her head. “I was sorry to hear of the passing of Hemming Jarl.” Shaking off his shock, he approached and rested his hand on Randvi’s shoulders, squeezing affectionately before turning to look Sunniva up and down with a critical eye. The woman flinched under his gaze; praying that he did not reference the unfortunate incident that still existed within their memory.

“Ah the sight of old friends lets my heart rest easy.”

“We came as soon as we heard.” Randvi answered. Their journey had been filled with mirth and excitement as they crossed the borders of England, only sobering when their ship docked at the port.

Sunniva nodded in agreement. She had been one of the first to volunteer her presence at this funeral on behalf of their clan. “Bearing gifts for Hemming Jarl.”

Eivor was eager to see the gift their blacksmith had forged; it was sure to be perfect if it was crafted by Gunnar’s skilled hands.

“The celebration will last many days. How soon ‘til we begin?”

Trygve’s brow furrowed in concentration. “The pyres construction is underway and all of our guests are lodged and welcomed…” His voice faded into the quiet as he turned to Randvi with a horrified expression.

“Had I known you and your husband would be arriving, I would have arranged better lodgings– “

Randvi raised her hand to silence his apologies before his ramblings tired him out.

“I do not require extravagant lodgings; I am happy to be housed with my clan’s raiders.” Trygve immediately shook his head – if Hemming Jarl were alive he would have been ashamed by the mere suggestion. Eivor too looked displeased with the idea; she still remembered the way Rollo had looked at her the first night he had arrived.

“In any case, my husband was too unwell to complete the voyage. He regrets that he could not be here for Hemming Jarl’s final journey.” Eivor and Sunniva exchanged a look heavy with doubt – neither truly believed that Sigurd had been unwell but they stayed silent, knowing this was hardly the time to question their Jarl’s honour.

“The lodgings you assigned me Trygve.” Eivor said before smiling at Randvi. “I will gladly gift them to our Jarlskona.”

He sagged in relief as the problem presented to him was resolved with no love lost. He gripped her shoulder tightly as she tipped her head to Randvi, who could do nothing to hide her blush except turn away. Her eyes skimmed the horizons as she took in the snow and frost covered trees; a beautiful sight that struck a chord with her. The homesickness she had felt when they had first landed in England had been pushed aside, buried deep within her heart as more pressing matters took priority but out here, away from the settlement she could not help but long for Norway. 

“You handled the preparations well, Trygve.”

“I pledged my life’s oath to Hemming Jarl. There is nothing I would not do for him.” She did not doubt his words – she need only look around at the gathered nobles and gifts piled high for proof of his dedication but she couldn’t help but feel uneasy as his eyes dimmed, again staring at the pyre with a wistful look.

_I hope you do not intend to take your dedication further old friend…_

“The Athling must be held when the week is out and the funeral is done. The nobles of this shire will name Vili the jJarl of this clan.” Randvi and Sunniva smiled warmly at his enthusiasm for the future Jarl but Eivor could not bring herself to join in their mirth; not when she knew how much Vili resisted his fate. 

“This assumes they will be sober after a week of drinking and weeping.” There was a very good possibility that they would not be; it had taken nearly two weeks for the remaining members of her clan to journey to Fornburg following her own parent’s funeral, weak with grief and heads clouded by mead. Looking back it was a miracle they made it across the open water at all.

“It will be a grand funeral. Father will have a clear view of his lands from here.” Eyes filled with sympathy landed on the young warrior who tried his best to ignore his own grief in favour of praising the old man who had done so much for his father. As the two discussed the remaining arrangements, Eivor turned to Randvi and Sunniva with a barely concealed fury.

“How is my brother?” Each word was spoken through gritted teeth; the fact that Sigurd was not among them was an insult that reflected badly on the clan, let alone herself. She would not soon forget the dishonor her brother had placed on her already burdened shoulders. Making a mumbled excuse to check on the gift they had prepared, Sunniva slipped away as Randvi tried her best to soothe Eivor’s rage.

“He is…himself. Distant, cold—”

“He should be here!”

“Yes, he should.” Her heart broke for the woman beside her, anger towards Sigurd again making itself known as she stepped closer. “But do not let his inaction sour your mood – not now, not here.” Her words did little to quench the adrenalin pulsing through Eivor’s veins but she knew Randvi was right – it was not the time or place to dwell on the insults given to them by her brother. She looked to the horizon as her thoughts shifted to matters that were more urgent, uncertainty dulling her senses and leaving her weary.

“Forgive me, it has been a trying day.” In truth it had been a trying week - she had spent her days by Trygve’s side helping him with the affairs of the shire whilst spending her nights awake with Vili, sharing stories and drinking ale early into the mornings. She had embraced these distractions with open arms – choosing to focus on the grief of others rather than her own.

“I suppose we should get started.” Trygve and Vili approached them again with forced smiles. “Our guests need looking after.”

“Allow me to help you Trygve, it is the least I can do.”

“That is kind of you Randvi, but it is all in hand- “

“Nonsense.” She placed her hands on her hips as she stared down the defenceless old man, earning a look of pride from Eivor as Vili looked on in amusement.

“Randvi will be of use to you, without her steady hand to guide us, we would be nothing.” Although said in jest Eivor was completely serious; if not for Randvi she would have lost her way a thousand times. Vili’s gruff laugh broke the stalemate and he embraced Randvi tightly.

“Thank you Jarlskona. Eivor, I must be away for a short time. I want to retrieve something for my father. A gift.” Her gaze narrowed as she stared at her friend; he had made no mention of any gift or if he had she had been too drunk to remember.

“When did you have time to make a funeral gift?” He smirked at her as if delighting in knowing something she did not.

“It was something I had hoped to give him in life. You must see it to believe it.” His vagueness infuriated Eivor but it was reassuring to see a glimpse of the boy he had once been standing before her.

“The gift we brought to honour your father is being stored at the watchtower on the far side of Hemthorpe.” Randvi spoke before an argument could break out between the two friends.

“Very kind, thank you. I should like to see it.”

“I should look over the gift first Arse-Stick. It must be worthy of Hemming Jarl.” A startled laugh split the air.

“Arse-Stick? Now that is a tale I would like to hear.” Eivor felt herself blush as Randvi’s laugh stirred a longing in her that she had ignored for too long. Vili groaned at the mention of such a dishonourable nickname before bidding a fond farewell to the two women.

“He looks well.” Randvi muttered as she turned to face Eivor. The drengr nodded, her eyes tracking her friend as he disappeared down the mountains and out of sight.

_If I have to rescue you from Picts arse-stick…_

“Come Eivor, we should find Trygve.” As they walked from Odin’s rest, Randvi allowed herself to lean into Eivor’s side, confident that those around were either too drunk or too oblivious to notice. She had imagined how Eivor would react to her arrival multiple times during her journey but she had not prepared to see such wonder on the face of her beloved as she summited the snowy mountain.

“How does it feel to be away from your tables and maps?”

“Exhilarating. This new land is so new yet …familiar.”

“I am glad. Had I known you would answer my call I would have written sooner.” Eivor was still awe-struck that the woman was walking beside her through snow-covered fields, but her heart was made heavy by what would await them when they returned.

“Tell me of Sigurd, do his visions persist?” The woman stifled a sigh of frustration as the conversation again shifted to her absent husband. It was not Eivor’s fault that he treated her as he did but she had wanted to leave all thoughts of him aside, focussing only on reclaiming a part of herself she thought lost to her forever.

“I- “

“No, it is alright. Sigurd’s concerns are his own.” Eivor brushed a few flakes of snow from Randvi’s shoulder and adjusted her cloak against the bitter wind, blushing as the red-haired woman smiled lovingly up at her.

Eivor led them through the crowds already gathering around the alehouse until they had reached the Longhouse. Sunniva and Rollo leaned against the wooden pillars as they guarded the chests they had dragged from the ship, smiling and waving as Eivor and Randvi approached.

“Rollo, good to see you.” She clasped his arm tightly before pointing to the crowds behind her.

“The nobles will empty this shire of ale if you are not quick enough to fill your horns.” The look of despair and fury that flashed across his face before he darted into the crowd forced a laugh from her chest.

“Do you need help with these Eivor?”

_As long as the chests are not full of whale bone…_

She waved Sunniva aside before grabbing Randvi’s chest and hauling it onto her shoulder. She then gripped her own chest and secured it under her arm before turning to Randvi.

“Shall we?”

The Jarlskona could focus on nothing but the sight of Eivor’s muscles rippling under her tunic as she led the way to her lodgings. The modest hut was a short walk from the centre of the city but not too close that they would be disturbed by the festivities which would last into the night. Eivor grunted as she dropped the chests by the door before turning to inspect the modest furnishings; a comfortable bed with a small table placed beside the hearth. Nothing befitting the wife of a Jarl but simplistic enough for their needs.

“Small but rustic.” Randvi remarked as she unclipped her cloak and placed it on the bed before inspecting the rest of the room. She watched Eivor approach the hearth out of the corner of her eye, her eyes softening as she watched the drengr stoke the embers into a tentative flame.

“I should get more wood.” If the nights were similar to the days they would need twice the amount of firewood they currently had to stave off the intruding coldness, maybe three times.

“Eivor come here.” Randvi’s voice, usually light and clear now sounded rougher, more desperate. She waited impatiently for Eivor to cross the room, a sigh of contentment escaping into the air as she felt Eivor’s arms wrap tightly around her. The woman shivered in Eivor’s arms as she buried her nose in the crook of her neck, breathing deeply as she felt Eivor’s grip tighten.

“I have missed you my love.” It was becoming impossible for her _not_ to miss Eivor; even when they were in the same room it was no longer enough for her.

“And I you.” She pulled away just enough so she could capture Eivor’s lips in a hungry kiss, her fingers gripping the drengr’s tunic and tugging her impossibly close as desperate whimpers filled the air. She doubted Eivor realised the effect her presence had on her; how a single look could leave her breathless, desperate for her touch. The drengr was intoxicating.

“Randvi…” Lungs screaming for air was the only reason Eivor pulled away but this did nothing to discourage Randvi from locking her lips to Eivor’s neck, nipping and biting the sensitive skin before lavishing the red marks with her tongue.

Growing more desperate with each whimper dragged from Eivor’s lips, she forced Eivor to step backward until her legs crashed into the table at the back of the room. The feel of Randvi’s lips on her heated skin dulled the sting in her legs and if it were not for said table that now supported most of her weight, she would have collapsed to the floor in a shaking mess.

Her eyes rolled back as teasing lips continued their path down the slope of her neck. “ _Gods…Randvi…”_ Knowing that she was responsible for the breathless whimper of her name filled Randvi with a confidence she had not felt since the days of her youth. She pressed herself closer, groaning at the salty taste of Eivor’s skin as her fingers slipped under the collar of her tunic, tugging and pulling the fragile fabric aside as her desire built higher and higher.

Months spent longing for the company of the other vanished in the blink of an eye as Eivor guided Randvi’s lips to her own once more. Her hands fiddled with the belt at Randvi’s waist, the restraint she had forced herself to show for the past few months melting away to be replaced by a burning desperation that refused to be ignored. She had waited years to be this close to the woman who joined them as a stranger years before; who had stolen the very breath from her lungs with her kindness and devotion and now that she finally had her in her arms, not even Odin himself could convince her to let her go.

“Randvi? Eivor?”

The two sprung apart as a gentle knock on the door broke through the cloud of desire which had surrounded them and dulled their senses to anything else. Eivor frantically tugged her tunic back into place before forcing herself to take several deep breaths as Randvi ran a shaking hand over her face.

The door opened to reveal Trygve who looked around the modest lodgings with an appraising smile before sweeping through the archway with wide arms.

“I trust your lodgings suit you?”

“Yes, they are more than adequate. Thank you.” Her breath was still ragged but she hoped the old warrior was too pre-occupied to notice.

“Good, good. I wondered Randvi, whether your offer to assist with the final arrangements was genuine?” Even if it had not been Randvi would never deny the old man her help, not when he had been so generous to her and Eivor.

“Of course, what do you require?” Eivor joined them and listened intently as Trygve discussed the number of fights that had broken out and plagued the streets, threatening the safety of all those who had travelled to bid farewell to their Jarl.

“Have I failed my Jarl already Eivor?” The woman’s heart broke for the man; he had dedicated his life to serving Hemming Jarl, a noble duty but not one to be taken lightly, even in death.

“Do not despair Trgyve.” Randvi reassured him gently, her hand resting on his arm as he struggled to pull himself together. “We will do what we can to settle these disputes –"

“ _I_ will settle the fights Randvi, the clan would be lost if something were to happen to you.”

_And I would never recover …_

Seeing that the drengr was serious, Randvi turned to Trygve with enthusiasm dimmed but not completely eradicated.

“Come Trygve, I will help you with the preparations for the pyre whilst Eivor douses what fires remain.” Sharing a look that spoke of moments to come, the three departed the small hut and descended into the madness that was Hemthorpe.

\--

Randvi had thought she’d known an honest day’s work but she was starting to realise that scrutinising maps and guarding her clan against the tempers of her husband was a poor substitute to carrying wooden stakes to the top of a mountain over and over. Still, it was work she was glad to do if only to distract from the fire simmering low in her belly.

She had caught glimpses of Eivor throughout the day as she and Trygve had organised the final arrangements, her cheeks burning with every encounter however brief. Yet their last moment alone together had been when the sun hung low in the sky and as the night rolled in, she was starting to worry that something had happened to keep her away.

She sat with the raiders around a roaring fire on the edge of the river, cheeks tinted red as she sipped from her ale horn and laughed along with Rollo’s stories. It had been a day of mixed emotions; sadness for Hemming Jarl and the son he left behind, excitement for the new lands that lay before her, desire for the woman who had held her so tightly – all of it had been like a dream that she wished never to wake from.

“Eivor returns at last!” Sunniva called as the warrior trudged towards them smelling of smoke and ale. Randvi’s heart stopped as she looked over the younger woman, checking for injuries or scraps that would need cleaning.

“How go the preparations Randvi?” She asked as she sat beside her.

“Very well. The pyre should be finished by early light.”

“Good.” Eivor did not think she could handle another day of rescuing Saxon’s and saving mead from burning buildings. She moved closer to the fire and it’s enticing heat; the long journey up the sleeping juton had robbed her of any warmth and magnified the ache in her bones. She had not wanted to dwell on the events that took place on the mountain but she was unable to steer her mind towards anything else.

The words Hemming Jarl had said in between savage swipes of his spear still resonated with her, striking at a weakness she was slowly being forced to accept. Except she could not accept it, no matter how many tried to convince her otherwise. Hemming Jarl, Dag, Odin, they had all spoken of her desire for Sigurd’s throne and his position as head of the clan, yet no matter how loudly she protested they still had not believed her when she denied ever desiring to lead. She had merely wanted to secure the safety of her clan and protect them against those who would wish them harm. Her eyes stared into the flames, searching for an answer to the question she did not want to ask.

_Am I destined to achieve that which I do not seek? Is my path so different from the path Vili now walks?_

“Did you visit the seer Eivor? Did she help?”

“I did... and no…if anything my mind is more clouded than before.” There was less than a week before the Athling; less than a week for Eivor to decide which man would lead and which man would follow.

_Hardly enough time to decide a man’s fate…let alone my own…_

“It is late. The night grows dark and I fear another day of toil awaits us.” Rollo sprung to his feet as Randvi slowly stood, his eyes wide with eagerness as he offered to escort her to her lodgings.

“Sit down pup!” Bragi quipped as Birna gripped his breeches and tugged him back into his seat. “You will only get lost trying to find a brothel!”

Eivor rolled her eyes at their playfulness; despite the blood and death that clung to their axe’s, they were basically children. “Come Randvi, I will see you safely to your lodgings.” Bidding farewell to the raiders Randvi followed Eivor through the back streets of Hemthorpe until they reached the modest hut.

“Stay awhile, if only to warm yourself by the hearth. Do not think I did not notice how close to the flames you sat.” Eivor grinned as she followed Randvi inside before immediately tending to the dying fire. After a few moments spent toiling over the embers, a gentle flame had begun to fill the hut with light and warmth. She glanced up as Randvi settled at her side, the woman’s fingers dancing over her arm as she stared into the flames.

They remained huddled together for some time, trading sweet words and gentle kisses until Randvi’s eyes began to grow heavy.

“Come Randvi.” Eivor gently lifted Randvi from the floor and walked her towards the large bed, her heart rejoicing as the tired woman leaned heavily into her side. She waited with her back turned for Randvi to shed her outer clothes, her heart pounding as she heard each article drop to the floor with a dull thud.

“Stay, Eivor?” The question was said so softly she feared Eivor would not hear it but she need not have worried; no matter how hushed her voice, Eivor would always hear her.

“I cannot Randvi. Sunniva and Rollo will wonder where I am.” She wanted to stay in Randvi’s company more than she had wanted anything in this life. It would be so easy to make her excuses to the raiders and spend the night in Randvi’s arms, but she knew that some were already beginning to question their relationship. If Sigurd were to ever find out before they were ready to confront him they could be banished or executed – she could not allow either option to happen to Randvi.

“I understand.” The words were spoken with sadness but it was not directed towards Eivor, rather the situation they had found themselves in. She understood Eivor’s hesitation; she had experienced it herself in the days when their love was new and precious, a thing to be protected against the harshness of the world. She had been afraid to act on her feelings, to concerned with duty to let herself feel anything other than longing. 

“I will leave you to your rest.” Blue eyes heavy with regret hesitantly met Emerald before she stepped from the hut and locked the door behind her.

_Soon my beloved…_

\--

The moonlight streaming through the cracks in the window was the only indicator of how much time had passed since Eivor left her side, yet sleep continued to allude her; her thoughts tpo loud and distracting to let her slip into peaceful slumber. Randvi stared up the unfamiliar ceiling in frustration as the last flickers of flame began to die out -tomorrow evening would be Hemming Jarl’s funeral, she had to get some sleep.

She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow as the urge to scream became too much to ignore. She knew the real reason she could not sleep. It was the same reason it had always been: Eivor. She had thought she had experienced agony in the last year or so, had assumed that the feelings of longing she had felt as she lay beside Sigurd in a bed that felt too small were as bad as it could get, but she had been wrong.

True agony was lying in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar town, surrounded by people who she probably would not meet again and _still_ being unable to embrace Eivor as she desired to do. It was a maddening combination of pain and pleasure to be so close to the woman and yet so far.

Puffing a stray lock of hair away from her face as she rolled onto her back, she stretched her legs under the furs and tried to quiet her mind. She wondered whether Eivor was too distracted by her own thoughts to sleep as well, whether she was thinking of her.

The sound of running footsteps interrupted her vision of Eivor strolling through the door, forcing her to sit upright in surprise. She forced herself not to make a sound as she strained to hear _something,_ her heart pounding as a prickle of fear began making its way down her spine.

Distant shouts now joined the running footsteps outside her door, forcing her to fling the furs aside and scramble for her clothes in the low light. She grabbed her war hammer and slipped it through the loop in her belt before bursting through the door with a war cry in her throat.

The night was quiet, the only indication that something was amiss being that it was _too_ quiet. She had expected to open her door to a battlefield but instead, all she saw was darkness and houses full of drunk nobles. Her heart sank in her chest as she ran towards the docks, her teeth clenched tightly at the sight of the abandoned fire still cracking weakly. She crouched low to the ground as her fingers hovered over the mud, searching for any sign that something had happened to make her people flee.

“Randvi!” Sunniva’s frantic voice close to her ear made the Jarlskona spin around in shock. She searched the darkness before running towards the younger woman with her hammer clenched tightly in her grasp.

Her scout had streaks of blood across her cheek but looked unharmed otherwise.

“What happened?”

Sunniva gripped her wrist and dragged Randvi towards a clearing of trees just beyond the borders of the town. As they approached, the sounds that had interrupted her daydream grew into a defining roar of swords clashing and men howling.

“Picts were spotted lurking in the thicket. Villi gave chase and Eivor chased Vili.”

“Gods…” Of course, Eivor would follow Vili, it was in the woman’s nature to put herself before any foe. They burst through the trees as twigs caught the fabric of their cloaks and found themselves surrounded by blood and death.

“His rage has consumed him!” Sunniva called before driving her axe into the side of a pict soldier, blood spurting from the wound and coating her skin. “All this anger, this sadness, it has truly taken form.”

“We can’t think of him now! Only ourselves!” The sights and sounds of battle consumed her very being as she plunged into the fight, her hammer striking at anyone who dared cross her path. She had yearned for the taste of battle as a younger woman before her fate had entwined with that of Sigurd’s and now she finally had what she craved in her grasp; she knew she would forever desire it. 

She forced every ounce of strength behind each blow her weapon made, determination to see these cowards wiped from the earth distracting her from things around her. She stumbled as Rollo pushed her aside just as the blade of a longsword swiped the air, missing her neck by mere inches. If not for the adrenaline pumping through her veins she would have been terrified, but all she felt as she gripped a discarded sword and plunged it deep within her enemy’s stomach, was a craving for more.

With a cry of rage on her lips, she picked up a discarded spear and launched herself at the larger of two Picts, spearing his side with the tip before shoving her weight forward so he toppled to the ground.

She stood over his corpse with lungs threatening to burst from her chest; she was exhausted, bloody, and _triumphant_ until suddenly she wasn’t.

A sharp edge of a dagger slicing through her tunic and catching the sensitive skin underneath sent her stumbling backward with a curse on her lips. She turned to the pict she had assumed was merely a corpse as she pressed the flat of her palm against her side, snarling at him before bringing her hammer down upon him with a sickening crunch.

She didn’t think it was serious, more a scratch than a mortal wound but still, she did not look forward to Eivor’s reaction when she found her slumped against a tree with blood staining her tunic.

Warriors she had never met rallied to her side, bringing their blades down on what remained of the Pict army with relish and enthusiasm. The sounds of footsteps breaking through the brush drew Randvi’s eyes to the clearing as Eivor charged through with the fires of Helheim at her heels.

She watched in awe as Varin’s axe sailed through the air and lodged itself in the back of a fleeing pict as if it had a will of its own, turning to watch as Eivor sprinted forward, slashing and stabbing wildly as she fought to reach Randvi’s side.

“Are you hurt?” Her voice sounded rougher, more strained as her hand quickly replaced Randvi’s, pressing against her wound and frowning as Randvi flinched away from the pressure. Randvi looked around at the carnage; only a few stragglers remained, hardy enough to constitute a threat but they could take no chances. Eivor silently agreed as she left her side to retrieve her father’s axe, wrenching it free before returning to Randvi.

“You are hurt. Is it serious? Speak Randvi!” The din of swords still ringing in her ears made it difficult to concentrate on Eivor’s frantic words but she forced herself to shake her head. She was fine, she was sure of it.

“Come. Sunniva!” The young warrior ran to join them with worry in her eyes, her gaze dropping to the blood spilling over Eivor’s fingers before she took Randvi’s other arm and guided it around her shoulder.

“I am fine.” She muttered as Eivor and Sunniva guided her towards the clearing, grave glances passing between them as Randvi’s eyes dimmed with exhaustion.

“Rollo!” The brash youth glanced up as his name was called. “Get this place cleaned up. Sunniva and I will tend to Randvi.”

\--

“Are you not over-reacting Wolf-Kissed?” Eivor and Sunniva groaned as Randvi once again tried to slip from their grasp, insisting that it was merely a scratch.

“Hush.” Randvi rolled her eyes at Eivor’s sharp tone. She had suffered stab wounds before when she was young and careless but they had not been nearly as painful as having to endure Eivor and Sunniva’s fussing.

Sunniva rushed to the chests kept by the door and began pulling water skins and fresh cloth from its contents as Eivor guided Randvi to the bed, hovering anxiously by her side as the woman lay back against the pillows with a sigh of relief. The adrenaline which had been so intoxicating now left her drained – an unfortunate side effect she did not remember being mentioned in tales of battle.

“Do not move.” Eivor instructed with a stern voice as she approached Sunniva who watched their interactions with amusement.

“I will follow your orders to the letter Eivor.”

The drengr took a deep breath as Sunniva snickered. The injury was not as severe as either of them had thought, more a nick to the skin than a grievous stab wound, but that did nothing to stem the fear flowing through Eivor.

“I will check on our raiders drengr and see you in the morning.” Morning was only a handful of hours away but Eivor nodded all the same. She waited for the young warrior to leave before leaning heavily against the doorframe, her heart pounding at the events of the night.

Had she known Randvi would have thrown herself into the fight like a Valkyrie she would never have followed Vili into the Picts lair. 

“Eivor, you’re bleeding!” It didn’t surprise her; most battles ended with her bleeding through her armour and having to replace the much-loved leather and fabric.

“Ja.” There was no use denying the obvious fact but her mind was too heavy with other concerns to care about her own wellbeing. Grabbing the waterskin, cloth, and vials of herbs Valka had given her before she had left, she approached Randvi and knelt by the side of the bed.

“May I?” Her fingers hovered over blood-stained fabric as she waited for Randvi to look at her.

Randvi could only nod as Eivor’s hands slipped under the fabric and slowly pushed it upwards to reveal unbearably soft skin. Her breath hitched as Eivor’s thumbs gently glided over her stomach, goosebumps erupting and following their path.

“You’re first battle wound Randvi.” The words barely registered in Randvi’s mind; she was too busy focusing on how _good_ it felt to have Eivor’s hands on her bare skin, despite the circumstances. Eivor muttered a thankful prayer to Freyja as she tentatively poked and prodded the edges of the shallow cut. Thankfully the wound itself was minor, barely anything to crow about but to Eivor it was the worse wound she had ever seen.

“I will wear it with pride.” Her hands gripped the furs underneath her tightly as Eivor reached for the cloth she had dampened moments ago before gently dragging it across the wound, wiping away blood and sweat as Randvi watched with hooded eyes and shallow breaths. Once, when their marriage had still been young and exciting, Randvi had tripped over a loose tree root whilst tracking a deer through the forest. Sigurd had been attentive to her injury in his own way, but his treatment then was nothing compared to how Eivor treated her now.

“You must think me weak.” Careful ministrations slowed as Eivor looked up at her.

“Did you think me weak when I returned from Lunden half-drowned and half-burned?”

“No. But- “

“And when I returned from Oxenefordscire beset by enemies only I could see? Was I weak then?”

Randvi sighed in frustration. “Of course not but Eivor- “

“You are a warrior Randvi – you are far from weak.”

It was pointless to argue the point further, not when Eivor was looking at her so intently. Once she had finished cleaning the wound she placed Valka’s herbs beside them and began making a salve, muttering the names of the ingredients to herself as she worked.

“Garlic…Leek…honey…” Randvi groaned as the words stirred something in her memory; she remembered seeing this particular salve being applied to a warrior when she was nine winters old. His angry yelps of pain had seemed amusing at the time but as Eivor carefully gathered the mixture in her palm, she failed to see what could have been so funny.

Eivor shuffled closer to the bed and slipped her fingers through Randvi’s hair, tugging the woman closer as her palm hovered over her side. When she had fallen from a tree as a small child, her father had distracted her from the pain by manipulating shadows against the wall. Perhaps she could do something similar now. She hesitated for a single moment, her eyes flickering to Randvi a final time to make sure she was not in pain before she leaned forward and kissed her gently.

Randvi moaned low in her throat as she felt Eivor’s lips tease her own, all thoughts of salves and pain disappearing from her mind as she chased Eivor who had selfishly pulled away from her.

“Don’t hit me.”

“Wha-“ Her question was cut off by a yelp of pain as Eivor’s palm collided with the gash on her side, her whispered apologies melting into the air as fire under her skin. Although only lasting a few seconds the pain left her dizzy, her vision blurring as she gulped down lungfuls of air. Eivor made short work of bandaging her side, securing the cloth tightly before reaching for the jug of water Sunniva had left them.

“A raider's trick?” She asked breathlessly as she accepted the mug of water.

“It worked for me.” Randvi’s eyes drifted to the web of scar tissue that covered the warrior’s neck. She couldn’t imagine the pain she had endured when they sealed the bloody mess shut with flames and iron.

_Such a brutal, agonising wound to receive at such a young age…_

“I should let you rest; the dawn will come soon and we must be ready.” She should leave; she knew that Randvi needed to rest and recover but she could not bring herself to leave her bedside, not with the memories of battle still fresh in her mind.

“Stay. Please.” Randvi had never begged for anything in her life but she would beg for this; for one single uninterrupted night with the woman she loved in her arms. There would be time for conversations and feverish touches later but for now, she simply wanted to sleep.

_“Randvi…”_

“To sleep, Eivor. Although I want nothing more in this world than to lie with you…” she licked her lips as Eivor’s breath quickened at her words, “to feel you fall apart at my touch…”

“You are torturing me Randvi…”

_Not yet my love…_

“We both need rest if we are to honour Hemming Jarl.” Mention of the man they had travelled far to honour vanished any desire that had been building between them, much to their secret relief. Randvi slipped past Eivor and began removing her boots and outer layers, stifling a groan of discomfort as her bandage restricted her movements. Eivor meanwhile forced herself to tend to the fire, to secure the door – anything to prevent herself from looking back at Randvi.

“My love?” Randvi had been touched and amused at Eivor’s attempts to be chivalrous but she was too tired to allow the woman to remain so far from her reach. Slipping under the fur covers and blowing out the single candle by their bedside, she held her hand out to Eivor who still remained fully clothed on the other side of the room.

“I…uh could you…” The gentle laugh she received in response did nothing to calm the butterflies taking flight in her stomach, a pout forming as she realised how ridiculous the situation was. Once Randvi’s laughter had died away and she diligently closed her eyes, Eivor quickly shed her clothing and threw on a simple cotton tunic before slipping into the bed.

Randvi immediately tucked herself into Eivor’s side, too weary to care about anything but the feel of Eivor’s arm around her waist and the way their legs entwined under the furs. The warmth of the other woman, the feeling of her chest rising and falling under her hand, the gentle kisses Eivor placed in her hair as she pressed herself deeper – all these things made it impossible for Randvi to resist the pull of sleep.

Her eyes grew heavier as Eivor’s fingers began tracing runes and patterns across her back, too far gone to recognise just what the runes depicted.

“I could have lost you Randvi…seeing you injured…it scared me.” Thoughts of sleep vanished from her mind as Randvi placed a lingering kiss on Eivor’s skin as she entwined their fingers.

“I could lose you at any moment.”

“Hmm.”

Neither of them were strangers to death, both had adopted an air of acceptance when confronted with the finality of it, but Eivor now had a reason to come home safe just as Randvi had a reason to remain safe. Both silently vowed that they would not jeopardise the future waiting for them for the opportunity of glory

\--

For Randvi, waking in Eivor’s arms was akin to waking in Valhalla. The sun had barely risen over snow-covered hills when the last tendrils of sleep withdrew from her mind. She buried herself deeper into the arms which had held her tightly through the night as she slowly became aware of her surroundings, smiling as bleary eyes fell onto the relaxed face of her sleeping drengr.

_You still snore like a wounded animal…a sound I could learn to cherish…_

Eivor looked so much younger when she was asleep; the hard lines of her face disappearing as the burdens she carried slipped from her shoulders.

“Do I amuse you?” Eivor’s voice was even rougher in the mornings; a fact that delighted Randvi greatly as she placed a soft kiss on her cheek.

“You astound me.” Blue eyes slowly opened before closing again with a groan of displeasure on her lips. She tightened her grip and buried her nose in Randvi’s flame-red hair, inhaling her scent deeply as she was lulled back to sleep by the sound of Randvi’s breathing

“Tis early my love.” Her voice was muffled but Randvi heard her clearly, grinning at how childlike the warrior appeared when her sleep was interrupted. Eivor grunted as Randvi pulled away to place a chaste kiss to her lips.

“Go to sleep.” She was powerless to resist the alluring pull of slumber as she settled back into Eivor’s arms.

When they did eventually rise, the morning had come and gone. They had dressed quickly, sharing secretive smiles and teasing caresses before slipping from the hut in search of Trygve and Vili. The two men had heard of Randvi’s injury the night before and had approached with worry and regret in their eyes.

“Damn Picts!” Vili muttered as Eivor described how they had fled into the brush like scared children. He had no doubt that these attacks would become more frequent but as Jarl, he would be confined to the war room instead of leading the charge. A thought that did not sit well with him.

“Come Eivor, I have need of your counsel.” She nodded solemnly, already knowing that her day would be spent as a listening post; a service she was happy to provide. Eivor slipped from Randvi’s side with whispered apologies and a promise to find her before the funeral began that evening.

The day progressed smoothly and as the first stars began to appear in the mirky blackness of the sky, she and the rest of those gathered began the slow march to Odin’s rest. She had not seen Eivor or Villi since that morning but Trygve had assured her that they were perfectly safe.

“Probably chasing chickens or riding sticks as they did as children!” She had smiled at his attempts to reassure her but she knew she would be restless until the moment Eivor was by her side once more.

_I never used to be so desperate to be in your presence Eivor…I fear you have ruined me, my love._

She moved fluidly through the gathered crowds, smiling at those she knew and nodding in respect to those who seemed to know _her_ until a familiar voice caught her attention.

“Hjorr!” She walked as quickly as she was able to the Norseman’s side, tightly gripping his arm as he looked her up and down.

“Randvi, I am surprised to see you so far North, but where is your husband? Is he not with you?” She sighed; she was tired of having to repeat the same excuse.

“No, he was too unwell to travel.”

“A pity. I would have liked to have seen him.” His eyes became melancholy as he looked to the snow-covered hills, his smile only returning when he spotted a familiar drengr moving towards him.

“Eivor!”

“Hjorr, old friend. It is good to see you here. Is Ljufvina here as well?”

“One of us had to stay in Jorvik. She wishes she could be here, but alas, our duties never end.” Randvi nodded solemnly; she was all too familiar with the work involved with managing a clan.

“Indeed. Only Hemming Jarl has that privilege now.”

“Yes. Excuse me Eivor, Randvi but I must give my condolences to Vili.”

Eivor waited until her old friend was far enough away before slipping her arm around Randvi’s waist and drawing her away from the drunken nobles.

“Are you well Randvi? Are you warm enough?” She had already undone the clasp of her cloak when Randvi shook her head, rolling her eyes playfully as she leaned close to her.

“I am fine Eivor – the fresh air cures all ailments does it not?” Although she had chastised Eivor earlier in the day for hovering around her like a scared chicken, she was secretly delighted by Eivor’s attentive nature, having not received anything like it from her husband in the years that had passed.

“Eivor…” The drengr stifled a grumble of annoyance at being summoned so shortly after arriving at Randvi’s side but she knew it could not be helped. Vili approached them with a forced smile, his eyes bright and clear despite having spent the evening before drunk and battle crazed.

“The nobles have offered up their funeral gifts. All but you. Present what you have and the celebration may begin.”

The shield Gunnar had crafted as an offering rested heavily on her back; it’s weight a haunting reminder of what she and Vili had lost. It had been a splendid item and a part of her was sorry to part with it but it had been crafted for a great leader and warrior and she, in her opinion, was neither of those things. She felt Randvi’s fingers gently brush against her forearm as Vili climbed the steps to stand before his father. She gripped the heavy wood and pulled it free from its restraints before walked towards the pyre to rest it at Hemming’s feet.

_Eternal be your war-strength, Hemming. Drenched in battle-dew, may you fight until the sky-wolf swallows the sun._

“Stand at my side.” She would never refuse her friend in his darkest hour, no matter how uncomfortable it made her feel to stand above others.

“Today we mourn the passing of Hemming Jarl of Snotinghamscire. My father. Our father.”

She was suddenly back in Norway - barely seven winters old and standing by her mother and fathers’ pyre. She could still feel Sigurd’s hand on her shoulder, grounding her as Stybjorn spoke of her father’s courage and her mother’s honour. At seven winters his words had offered no comfort just as Vili’s offered no comfort now.

“…we are these things because he was these things…” She had heard none of his speech, too consumed by memories of past agonies to listen to her friend’s passionate dedication. She distanced herself from Vili as he addressed his father a final time – the words of a son to a father should not be overheard.

As she patiently waited for Vili to say his final farewell, her eyes naturally drifted to Randvi who stood with Sunniva and Rollo, the three of them watching as Eivor was handed the burning flame that would light Hemming’s path.

“Please Eivor…set my father free.” She swallowed against the lump in her throat as she plunged the flames into the dry wood, stepping back as it began to catch and spread. She passed the torch to Vili with a solemn nod – an action that was not lost on either of them.

“I…”

“Peace old friend.” Her hand gripped his shoulder as the first cracks in his resolve began to show. “These matters that cloud your eyes need not be spoken of tonight.”

They embraced tightly, consumed but united in their grief as cheers rose into the night.

\--

The feast in Hemming’s honour had been unlike anything she had ever seen; more animals lay prepared on the tables than roamed free in the woods, barrels of ale stacked high into the sky were emptied within hours – if Hemming Jarl could see the celebrations held to honour his life he surely would have wished to delay his death if only to experience everything offered.

Despite the laughter, flowing mead and good company, Eivor’s mind was still troubled by the decision that lay before her. The Athling had already been called and her decision was to be announced in the morning.

_One is loved by many but lacks the will to be a leader…the other is sturdy and loyal but older, his thrill for life lost to him…_

“You have a stormy look.” Randvi muttered as she slipped her fingers through Eivor’s hair. The two had retired for the evening and now lay entangled under the covers, the feeling of warm skin making it difficult to concentrate on anything but each other.

“A task was placed before me by Hemming Jarl before he passed, one I do not know how to complete.” Randvi glanced down at Eivor as the woman’s fingers slipped under her cotton tunic to trace patterns across her stomach. She did not know if it was ale or grief which made Eivor more confident but she was happy to let her push the boundaries they had been forced to impose.

“Hmm what task was that?” Inquisitive fingertips moved steadily higher, dragging soft whimpers from Randvi’s lips with every brush of her thumb.

“Do you think there is a place for Vili in our settlement? He expressed a desire to live and work with us.”

“Vili? He does not wish to be Jarl of this shire I take it?” Eivor nodded before trailing her lips across Randvi’s shoulder, emerald eyes growing darker as Eivor’s lips moved lower.

“He is expected to but lacks the will to lead.” She nipped the skin above Randvi’s heart, soothing the red mark with her tongue as she felt the woman shiver beneath her.

“Wh-what of Trygve?” Her mouth fell open as a startled moan fell from her lips, her heart pounding as Eivor’s lips softly caressed the top of her breast.

“He feels he is too old, but he is wise.”

It was becoming impossible for Randvi to keep track of the conversation, not when Eivor had slipped further down her body and was gazing up at her with hungry eyes.

“Randvi…” Her name had been whispered many times before by many different people but never had it left her so desperate.

“Do not tease me Eivor.” She whimpered through gritted teeth.

She watched with wide eyes as tentative hands gripped the hem of her tunic, slowly pushing it upwards as Eivor nipped at the sensitive skin of her thighs.

“Never.” Her head fell back against the pillows as harsh moans tumbled from her lips.

_Odin...I fear I may dine at your side tonight_

_\--_

Hours later, when the sweat had cooled on their bodies and their heart rates had slowed Randvi gently poked Eivor’s shoulder as memories of their conversation came to the forefront of her mind. Eivor groaned in discomfort as Randvi playfully tugged the loose strands of her blonde hair as she waited for Eivor to look up at her.

“What have you decided?”

“Decided?”

“Villi and Trgyve.” Ah _…_ two men, two choices, only one acceptable outcome. With a groan of effort, she forced herself to slip from Randvi’s embrace so she could lie beside her.

“Vili…he will make a fine raider.” A weight she had carried for days was suddenly wrenched from her shoulders as her decision became clear. Relief and happiness bubbled up inside her as she imagined the moment she would free Vili from the shackles of fate; his smile breaking through the clouds of his grief.

“He will, just as Trygve will make a fine Jarl.” The old man would likely have a heart attack when he found out but would be happy in the end.

_I pray you are happy with my decision Hemming Jarl…_

“And what of you Eivor?” The drengr’s brow furrowed in confusion as she looked to the woman beside her.

“Me?”

Randvi nodded. “You carry the burdens of your clan wherever you go Eivor, but there is one burden that rests heavier than the others.” She was right; the visions she had seen in Norway, of Odin’s hall and the wolf had been a constant companion to the drengr for years, so much so that she could not imagine her life without its presence. A warm palm resting against her cheek brought her back from that frozen mountain.

“Will you tell me what troubles you?” She was afraid to give life to the visions she had seen but as she stared into eyes that shone with acceptance and love, she knew that it was the right time.

“Years ago, before we left Norway…I had a vision.” Randvi’s eyes widened in surprise. “A vision that foretold a betrayal. That I would betray my brother.”

“Eivor that…that is not possible.”

“I refused to believe it. I would never do such a thing.” Randvi fell silent as Eivor rolled onto her back to stare up at the ceiling.

“I have been careful with my choices Randvi, trying to predict the outcome of my actions so as to fight against the fate written for me. But there was one choice I had no say in, one outcome I did not try and prevent and I fear it has sealed my fate but I…I feel no anguish or pain…”

The concern Randvi had felt when she first broached the topic now doubled as she waited in the darkness. When Eivor remained silent she reached out to her.

“What choice was that Eivor?”

The drengr smiled to herself. She no longer knew what her destiny was nor did she know whether it would be easier to accept what the fates had weaved or rally against the threads and forge a new path. All she knew was that the events that had taken place, whether they be driven by the Gods or her own actions, had led her to this very moment. 

She looked to Randvi who watched her closely. Tomorrow she would announce Trygve as the new Jarl and she and her crew would return to Ravensthorpe with a new raider. She did not know when she and Randvi could be together again as they currently were, but they would endure. She would gladly endure anything for this woman by her side for reasons that now seemed obvious.

“Eivor, what choice?”

“Falling in love with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when I only have one line of dialogue to work with and I didn't even use it!


	13. Wincestre

The journey from Snotinghamscire to Ravensthorpe had taken only a few days but in those days Randvi had experienced more laughter and joy than she thought possible. Her days had been spent discussing the gains they had made since landing in England and reminiscing on their lives in Norway whereas her nights were spent leaning against Eivor’s shoulder and gazing up at unfamiliar stars. It had been the definition of paradise but there had been a tinge of sadness to the air, a crushing realisation that things could not be as they had been. The thought had plagued both of them as they rounded the river bend with heavy hearts.

They had arrived home on the fifth day in the early hours of the morning with bodies heavy with exhaustion. Randvi waited patiently for Eivor and Sunniva to secure their vessel before she took the hand offered to her by Rollo and stepped onto the dock. Despite being gone a matter of weeks, she looked upon the settlement with new eyes; gone was the staunch and stoic woman she had been, replaced by a woman who knew her own heart and mind.

Sunniva, Birna and the other raiders bid farewell to the two nobles with claps on the shoulder and sweet words until they stood alone under the dimming moon’s light.

“We … _you_ should retire Randvi, it has been a long voyage.” Eivor’s slip of the tongue sent a piercing pain through her heart; only a few days ago she had slept and awoken in her arms and now she was to return to the side of a husband who showed no awareness that she even existed. A hesitant finger running across her cheek made her look up into sorrow filled eyes.

Eivor had not allowed herself to think of what she and Randvi had said and done in Snotinghamscire as their settlement had come into view. Instead she had looked to the future and what it could hold for them both, refusing to give life to the niggling worry that the future was simply _too far_ ahead of them to plan.

“I…” Randvi shook her head; no words could be whispered that would vanish the pain and unease she felt as their minds turned to Sigurd. Eivor had received no word from her brother whilst they had been in the frozen lands of the North but that had not been surprising; Sigurd was equally bad or if not worse than she when it came to written correspondence. He preferred to share any worthwhile news face to face over a roaring fire - one of the few things she had left in common with her brother.

A cool breeze rippled through their cloaks and sent shivers down their spines. “Come Eivor, we should face what awaits us.” They walked shoulder to shoulder through the camp, their fingers brushing gently as they approached the intimidating building in the distance. As they stepped through the heavy oak doors they expected to hear the crackle of embers and the snores of their Jarl but instead they were meet with an overbearing silence.

Eivor’s hand hovered over the hilt of her axe as they walked through the darkness, her eyes scanning the shadows for any threats or dangers until she stopped still, her eyes fixed on the throne.

“You have returned.” Sigurd, who had silently watched their approach leaned forward as his wife and sister gazed up at him in surprise. His voice which had been harsh and direct for so long now sounded soft and gentle, almost as if spoken by a child.

“Yes, we have.” Eivor answered as her fingers ran across the top of her father’s axe; She would not be fooled by any soothing words that fell from his lips, not again.

“Ahh good.” He stood and approached them, placing a heavy hand on Eivor’s shoulder as he looked down at her with remorse. “I apologise that I could not journey with you. I trust Hemming Jarl’s final journey honoured the man he was.” The two women shared a look that spoke of their mutual disbelief before Eivor slowly nodded.

“The only thing that shone brighter that Hemming’s funeral pyre was the legacy he left behind.” Sigurd smiled at her words; a sight so foreign to her that she could not help but return it.

“Randvi, my dear wife.” Eivor’s smile slipped from her features as Sigurd placed his hands on Randvi’s shoulders and kissed her cheek gently. “Are you well?”

She nodded, taken aback by his gesture. “I am, if only a little tired.” In truth she was exhausted- as their boat had approached familiar waters, she had forced herself to stay awake if only to savour every final, precious moment spent at Eivor’s side. Sigurd seemed to hesitate at her response before he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and guided her towards their chambers, leaving Eivor behind with a cold feeling in her chest.

“Come then. Eivor, we will discuss events that require your attention later.” Eivor could only watch as they disappeared through the archway, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she was left to wonder what had just happened. The man who had stood before her had been her brother; not the cold, empty shell of a man tortured to the brink of madness, but her _brother._ She should have felt elation but instead, she had felt only apprehension. 

“A pleasant sight no?” She spun on the balls of her feet as Basim’s voice cut through the air, his eyes meeting hers as he leaned against the wooden pillar with a secretive smile on his lips. “A husband reunited with his wife. Separated for so long by distance and pain.”

“Basim…” Despite everything he had done to return Sigurd to her side, there was something about his quiet but calculating demeanour which made her warry of the man she had once named brother.

He placed his hand to his chest and bowed; a sign of respect that Eivor did not immediately return. If he had been offended he did not show it but then again, she had never seen Basim show any form of emotion – apart from pain when she had struck him in Oxenefordscire. The memory brought bitter but satisfying memories to her mind, ones she banished with a shake of her head.

“It is late …or early. We shall talk more –” He raised his hands in a placating manner before stepping away from the pillar. “Of course my friend.” She had taken three steps towards her own chambers when Basim again spoke her name into the quiet.

“Eivor, when you have a moment after you have rested I believe Hytham has received a letter he is keen for you to see.” She nodded briskly before disappearing through the archway. Once certain that Basim had left, she sat heavily at the foot of her bed and ran her hands over her face. She and Randvi had spoken briefly of what mood Sigurd might be in when they returned; enraged, bitter, silent – but neither had expected him to be gentle and kind. She did not yet know what to make of it. She quickly removed her armour and boots before placing her weapons on the table, smiling affectionately at the axe.

_I should have Gunnar sharpen you…_

Satisfied that everything was in its proper place, she slipped under the covers and shivered at the cool material. The time she and Randvi had spent in Snotinghamscire was already becoming a distant memory, a dream which was slowly fading into smoke no matter how tightly she held onto it. They had both known that Snotinghamscire had been nothing but a short prelude to what their future held, a promise of times to come once they had weathered this storm but that did not lesson the ache in her chest as she reached across the bed and felt only empty air against her fingertips.

She rolled onto her back and glared at the ceiling, her mind replying the way Sigurd had touched Randvi, the way he had kissed her cheek – such things were expected from a husband to a wife but it had left her enraged and fearful – a dangerous combination for one who had lost so much.

\--

When she opened her eyes again it was late-afternoon. The sun, which had travelled its journey across the sky now inched closer to its own rest, bathing the settlement in gold and amber.

As she felt the last tendrils of sleep retreat from her mind she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. The last fragments of her dream had already begun to disappear, visions of a red-haired woman fading before her eyes and leaving her longing for her return. 

With a monumental effort she dragged herself from the warm furs and began dressing. She pulled the familiar leather over her shoulders before grabbing her axe and sliding it through the belt loop as she left her chambers. Unlike when they had arrived in the early hours of the morning, the Long house was filled with people; the fires were roaring, the ale was flowing and the smell of cooking meat clung to the air.

“Ahh the sleeping giant awakes.” 

“Vili!” Her old friend glanced up from his plate and waved Eivor over to join him. She sat heavily at his side and pulled his plate towards her, stealing the piece of fruit he had been saving until later with a smirk on her lips.

“If I had known you had resorted to thievery I would have thought twice about joining your clan.” She laughed as he dragged the plate away from her grasp with a sullen look.

“Are you well Vili?” She had expected him to be melancholy during their journey but instead he had been boisterous and carefree; climbing the mast as they sailed away from Snotinghamscire with a laugh in his throat and relief in his eyes.

He nodded before placing a piece of meat between his lips. “I am. A weight I did not wish to be placed on my shoulders has been lifted, thanks to you.”

“The decision was yours; I only gave life to the words that needed to be said.”

Vili stared at her with an odd expression before tipping his head back and laughing loudly. “I have forgotten how poetic you can be sometimes.” With a content look to his eyes, he pushed himself away from the table and headed for the door; he had a settlement to explore and friends to greet.

“Do not get into trouble without me Wolf-Kissed.” She shook her head and watched him leave with fondness filling her heart; it was good to have another friend amongst their midst.

Now alone, she let her eyes drift to the alliance room and Sigurd’s chambers, her smile dimming as she thought of Randvi sleeping in her husband’s bed. This fact had never bothered her before but now it plagued her thoughts and darkened her mood.

Her brother had mentioned in the early hours that there were matters that required her attention and what better time to address them than now but before she could approach the alliance room, a shadow had passed behind her and taken the seat Vili had left vacant.

“Good day Eivor. Are you well rested?” 

“Basim…I am. And how are you?” His smile gave nothing away.

“I am present.”

_That is not an answer…_ Eivor thought to herself bitterly before standing with her gaze fixed on the war room.

“You are keen to speak to Sigurd I presume?”

His question followed her as she crossed the hall and entered the room, her brow creasing as she looked around the empty chamber.

_Where is Randvi…_

She tried not to let the fear settling in her stomach show as she hesitantly looked into her Jarl’s chambers, frowning when she realised Sigurd was missing as well.

“He and Randvi left whilst you were sleeping.” She clenched her fists as Basim’s voice rang clear through the room. “A walk to reconnect - I believe. He asked I tell you when you awoke.”

_A walk to reconnect…_

Eivor could not remember a time her brother and his wife had ever taken a walk to “reconnect”, not even when he had been away for two winters. She ran her fingers along the Alliance Map and looked around the chamber; it felt incredibly empty without Randvi’s presence.

“Have you spoken to Sigurd?” She asked as a way to fill the silence which was becoming uncomfortable.

Basim nodded. “We talk from time to time.”

“And how is he? He has been so …” she trailed off helplessly; what words could she use to best describe the man he had become?

“He has suffered much but I believe, in time, he will heal. With the help of those around him.”

_Those around him being Randvi it seems…_

“I believe he regrets the words he has spoken since his return and is eager to make amends, both to his wife and to you.” Eivor did not know whether her brother could make amends for everything they had endured but she would not deny him the opportunity to try.

There was no reason for her to stay in this empty room any longer. With a curt nod to Basim who bowed his head in return, she left the Long House and walked the short distance to the Hidden One’s bureau. She kept her eyes to the ground, afraid that if she looked up she would see Randvi and Sigurd strolling through the settlement arm in arm, sharing words only meant for each other.

The image struck her in the heart and left her dumbfounded. She had never considered the possibility that Sigurd may return to his mind only to then stake a claim on Randvi’s heart, not after he had made her suffer months, years of neglect.

_Enough!_

She scolded herself for allowing her mind to consider such a possibility as she stormed towards the green building. She and Randvi had whispered their love for one another many times; she would not allow her mind to fixate on the idea that she could change her mind, not when she had no reason to suspect that would happen.

“Hytham?” The young man flinched at her harsh tone and she was quick to mutter an apology; he was not the target of her bitterness.

“Eivor, good. You got my message.” He hadn’t expected to see Eivor so soon after she had arrived but he was grateful just the same. He grabbed a scroll from his desk and handed it to Eivor who viewed it with suspicion.

“An odd letter arrived a few days ago. Signed by one calling himself…”

“A poor fellow soldier of Christ.” It seemed her hidden ally was becoming more brazen. 

Hytham looked surprised. “That’s right. Someone you know?”

“Not by sight. But this soldier has intimate knowledge of the Order. He is the reason I have found them so easy in the city.” She had never allowed herself to become arrogant when it came to hunting the Order, not even when she began to earn a reputation. She knew that she would never have found her targets without her hidden ally and it was this humility that had kept her from making foolish mistakes.

“The letter says you must travel to Wincestre, visit God’s house, look for a man in white and repeat the phrase written on this scroll.” Eivor took it gratefully before unfurling it, reading the words several times before turning back to Hytham.

“I will speak to Randvi, get a fuller picture of all this.” She smiled in thanks before slipping from the building.

She had tried to hide her resentment from Hytham and Basim as the lists of targets continued to grow longer and the amount of time spent at home became shorter. Is this what the fates had in mind when they weaved the thread of her life?

_I was a warrior once. Commander of armies, leader of warriors…now I am reduced to hunting scared men in the dark on the orders of someone I do not know…_

So consumed with her own thoughts and the contents of the letter clenched in her hand that she failed to see Sigurd and Randvi approaching until it was too late to avoid them. She bit her bottom lip as she took in the sight of them walking together wearing smiles that alluded to secrets only they knew

“Eivor.” Her words failed in her throat as she stood before her Jarl and his wife, their cheeks tinged red from their brisk walk through the cold air.

“Sigurd, Randvi.”

“It is good to see you awake.” Sigurd said before pointing to the crumbled paper in her grasp.

“What news have you to share?” Eivor handed him the paper and stared ahead, refusing to meet Randvi’s eyes no matter how badly she wished to. She was overreacting, she knew this to be true and yet she could not dismiss the suspicion that clung to her. Months of seeing nothing but betrayal and death had impacted her judgement, leaving it unreliable and untrustworthy.

“When pride cometh, then cometh shame. But with the lowly cometh wisdom. Cryptic words with an unclear meaning.” Eivor took the paper back from her brother, her thoughts now fixed on this fellow soldier as she folded it in half and tucked it into her belt.

“I am to travel to Wincestre, to meet a man who wishes to wipe out the order as we do.” She did not look away from his eyes as they bore into her. Randvi’s gaze flickered between Eivor and Sigurd, unease growing with every passing second of silence as she waited for someone to say _something._

“Leave at once.” Eivor had expected the command but still resented her brother for giving it. Who was he to decide when and where she would go as she secured _his_ legacy?

_He is your Jarl._

She did not know who had whispered the words into her ear but that did not matter. The voice was right; Sigurd was her Jarl and she was his to command. This was the order of things and as he had said once before, without order there was only chaos.

“Do not go boldly Eivor.” The drengr had yet to encounter a foe she could not best but that did not make Randvi worry for her safety any less.

_Do not die for someone else’s battle…_

The drengr nodded once as she looked to the water, her eyes already agleam with plans and preparations. She would travel into the heart of a West Saxon stronghold to remove three more heads from the snake that tormented England. Perhaps then she would be rewarded with a moment of peace…

“I will take my leave and send word from Wincestre.” She could feel the weight of Randvi’s gaze on her shoulders as she walked towards the docks but when she turned at the last possible moment, her heart sank to see Randvi and Sigurd already walking away.

_It seems we now walk each other’s paths brother. Now it is I who wanders far from home whilst you comfort those left behind…_

\--

Randvi had stood to the side of the Alliance Room as Sigurd and Gunnar discussed the blacksmith’s plans to extend his forge, her attention rapidly dwindling as they spoke of plans she should be interested in but was not. Eivor had been in Wincestre for the last two weeks, slowly making her way through the city as she cut down the order that had infested it. Other than a hastily written note received a few days ago advising that all but one member remained, she had not heard anything from Eivor.

“Good day Randvi.”

“Good day Basim.” She smiled at the man who had become a permanent fixture at her husband's side as they watched Sigurd and Gunnar from the doorway.

“The joy in his heart seems to have returned.” She nodded absentmindedly.

_For how long I wonder …_

Like Eivor, she had viewed his recent transformation with hesitation but as the days had blended together, she had allowed herself to hope that whatever storm he had weathered had finally passed.

“Thanks to you it seems.” The evening she had returned had been spent trading stories and apologies, his eyes darkened by regret as he explained that Basim had spoken bluntly regarding his recent behaviour and that her absence had forced him to reconcile with the demons that plagued him.

Basim waved her words with an embarrassed smile. “The praise is yours. You stayed by his side, bore the brunt of his anger – your patience and kindness have aided him on his journey to reclaim what he once was.” 

She had done all that and more but so had Eivor. It was Eivor who had faced the armies of England to rescue him and yet she still did not receive the credit she was due.

“As did others -”

“Yes but the love of a wife is … _different_ to the love of an adopted sibling.” She bristled at his words but he continued before she could interrupt.

“The bond between a wife and her husband is sacred in the lands of my birth. Your clan looks to you to be a pillar of strength, a symbol of duty, honour, respect – “His voice drifted into silence as she felt a coldness grip her heart. She had spent so long consumed by her deepening love for Eivor that she had not considered how the clan would view their relationship nor how it would impact their standing amongst them. 

“Forgive me Randvi.” Sigurd’s voice cut through her thoughts and she turned to him.

“Let us discuss these matters another time my friend.”

“Of course.” Gunnar smiled sweetly at Randvi as he departed with new ideas and schemes swirling around his brain.

“A walk I think.” He said as he turned from his papers and scrolls to approach Randvi. “To clear the cobwebs from my skull. Will you join me?” Randvi had seen Sigurd walking the paths of the settlement many times since her return from Snotinghamscire, always with heavy shoulders and a contemplative expression. She had not intruded on his solitude but she could not deny the curiosity she had felt when he would return in the evenings with heaviness missing and the light returned to his eyes.

“If you wish.”

“Basim, should Eivor return in my absence instruct her to wait for me. There are matters we are to discuss.”

She tried not to let her discomfort show as he placed his hand on her lower back and guided her through the archway in the sunlight. Eivor’s hand on her skin had made her feel treasured, secure but Sigurd’s hand still carried a weight she was not familiar with, a weight she did not _wish_ to be familiar with.

Her mind was fixated on the words Basim had whispered in her ear; ugly, terrifying words that held an element of truth she had long ignored. She loved Eivor with a passion she had never known and yet his words of duty had planted a seed of resentful acceptance in her heart; she knew what she wanted but she was losing faith that she could have it.

“Forgive me Randvi.” His words were whispered as they approached the waterfall behind the Long House. “I have not treated you as a husband should, I see that now. These past months I have felt an anger inside me, one you did not deserve to bear the brunt of.” They sat silently by the water’s edge as she thought on his words. Eivor deserved an apology but not just from him, from everyone who had doubted her loyalty, her commitment, her judgement.

“I…I know you have suffered Sigurd. I bear you no ill will.” In the days following his return she had hated Fulke for torturing her husband, then as her memory and influence had begun to fade, her hatred had turned to her husband and his cruelty. Perhaps she had been unfair as well.

“That is kind of you. I hope to one day repay that kindness.” If she was braver, more selfish, she would choose this moment to announce to her husband that their marriage was over, that she had found love with another and that she wished to spend her life by Eivor’s side. But she could not be brave, not when Sigurd looked as peaceful and content as he did, not when he reached for her hand and cradled it as he did. Basim had spoken of duty; the duty she had gladly accepted when she had arrived in Fornburg to marry a man for the sake of peace. Such things could not be easily erased no matter how unbearable it was to accept.

In that moment she was the opposite of brave; she was a coward, and it would haunt her the rest of her life.

\--

Eivor’s outlook was bleak as she left Hytham’s side to report back on the events of Wincestre. Like she, he had been astounded to learn that she had been summoned by King Aelfred, the man who had gifted her brother to the madwoman Fulke and changed the course of their lives. He had smirked as she described how he had tried to convert her to his religion before she had fled the city walls with only a silver cross to show for her efforts.

“Strange indeed but the Order is now weaker than before. Thank you, my friend.”

She felt a warmth spread through her at his words; how long had it been since someone thanked her with such sincerity for completing the work others could not? She pushed the melancholy thought aside before straightening her shoulders and walking into the evening air. To be so close to the man who had allowed her brother to be tortured had been torture in itself; how easy it would have been to slit his throat with her dagger and accomplish what others had failed to do.

_No, there is a time for bloodshed…_

The Longhouse was clearly prepared for a grand feast, the reasons for which Eivor did not know. It certainly would not be for her - her arrivals tended to be met with relieved looks not barrels of mead. It had been the same way in Norway and she had long grown used to it.

Her footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as she drew closer to the alliance room and she began practicing what she would say to the woman she had been without for so long. Would Randvi be relieved to see her? Would her eyes darken as Eivor stepped close with honeyed words on her tongue and love in her heart? Or would the distance which now seemed to separate them grown too wide to be crossed?

She stopped abruptly as she took in the hunched figure of someone who was definitely _not_ Randvi. “Basim?” The man looked up from the Alliance Map he had been studying as she approached, a welcoming smile on his lips that was not returned. 

“Where is Randvi? Has something happened?” Fear had gripped her heart at the sight of the alliance table without Randvi, her mind immediately conjuring up images of her love injured or worse.

“Peace Eivor.” She would feel nothing but anxiety until she laid eyes on the woman she loved.

“Randvi and Sigurd are…indisposed. You may give me your report and I will relay this when I can.” The glint in his eyes as he spoke set Eivor’s teeth on edge, an anger she had not felt in months slowly creeping up her spine and threatening to burst from her lips with an enraged howl.

“Indisposed how?” She did not wish to ask the question. She did not wish to hear the answer even more.

Basim glanced down at the maps; his eye drawn to the white bishop that hovered over the map depicting ‘Vinland’.

_Interesting…_

“They are talking I believe. Discussing their marriage and other important matters. They have spent many nights discussing matters known only to them. I believe they are happy, or happier than they have been in recent months. As sister to the Jarl his happiness must be a relief to you?”

Eivor couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus on anything save the darkness invading the edges of her vision as she turned from the table. The fears long kept at bay by sheer willpower were advancing towards her like an army, an unstoppable force she could do nothing but face head-on.

“Tell my brother the order has been cleansed from Wincestre.” Her voice sounded dull and listless to her own ears as she stormed from the chamber yet, had she turned around, she would have seen Basim’s eyes narrowing in something akin to pleasure, the corners of his lips pulling into a satisfied smirk as he watched the conflicted woman disappear into the evening sun.

\--

Randvi smiled as she watched Hytham and Tekla bring forth another barrel of ale much to the joy of those present. The feast held to welcome Vili into their clan had been a spontaneous decision by Sunniva and Birna and had proven to be an popular one. Despite only being with them a matter of weeks he had become a firm favourite with the clan; his smile and easy temperament adhering him to everyone he met. As she allowed herself to look around the crowded longhouse, she couldn’t help but look to Eivor’s empty quarters. She did not know if she would return tonight and although she sincerely hoped she would walk through the entryway at any moment, she worried that this would simply be another welcome she had been forced to miss.

_The burdens we have placed on you Eivor…I hope one day you will see why we have placed these on your shoulders…_

“And how is our newest raider fairing?” Sigurd asked from his throne.

“Well, although I doubt he will remember much of tonight.” She doubted Vili would even be able to stand given the number of ale barrels still lined against the far wall. It hardly seemed possible that the settlement could be filled with such laughter after months of fractured silence, yet here they all were, celebrating their newest addition with such force that even the Gods would be envious.

“Good, I am pleased Randvi. I have been in the dark so long and now…” He tilted his head back and breathed deeply. He seemed a different man; the clouds around him having finally dissipated to reveal the sun that was his smile.

She was pleased for him, pleased for the settlement that had accepted his apologies and welcomed him with open arms but as her eyes again shifted to Eivor’s chambers, she found it impossible to be pleased for herself.

“Eivor! Blood -soaked drengr you are late!” Her eyes snapped to the archway as Eivor trudged forward only to be swept into a tight, drunken embrace by Vili, her arms weakly wrapping around his shoulders.

_Something is wrong…_

Her shoulders were impossibly heavy and there was a sadness to her eyes that she had not seen for months. She excused herself from Hytham’s side and made to move towards her but was intercepted by Sigurd, who tumbled from his seat to approach his prized warrior with a pleased smile which was reluctantly returned.

_Your fair mood remains brother…_

She did not miss the way Eivor’s eyes flashed as he approached, nor the way she clenched her fists as he stood before her.

“Eivor you have returned. I trust your business in Wincestre has concluded?” Eivor hesitated, her eyes narrowing as she looked to the alliance room before turning back to her brother.

“I…yes, the order has been cleansed from the city.”

“Good!” She flinched as his hand came to rest on her shoulder; another fact that was not missed by Randvi.

“Come, fill your horn, and rest from your travels.” Sigurd and Vili steered the reluctant warrior towards the far table and pushed her into a seat, taking her horn and heading for an unopened barrel. Randvi immediately moved to the younger woman’s side with concern clouding her vision.

“Eivor, what has happened? Are you alright?” Blue, crestfallen eyes looked up at her for a split second before flickering down to her own clenched fists. Her time away had been spent reflecting on all that had passed, on her decisions and their outcomes. So much time reflecting on what she could no longer change had left her melancholy and desperate for solitude, yet she feared what that solitude would grant her.

“I am fine Randvi. Tired from travelling and… all that has passed. Excuse me.” She did not turn when Randvi called her name nor did her steps slow as Sigurd and Vili approached with overflowing horns and confused expressions. They looked to Randvi who could only frown in response.

“I will speak to her.” Randvi muttered before dashing through the archway Eivor had left from. 

..

Eivor remembered when she was very young, her father telling her she had been blessed by Odin.

“The All-Father watches your steps little wolf.” He had said one cold evening as he tucked her into bed. “The fates have crafted you a path filled with glory, a path that Odin himself is envious of! But that path will be long, difficult. Are you prepared to walk it?” She had answered with a simple nod, too tired from a day of climbing and wandering to offer anything else.

She had not questioned his words in the coming years, rather she had clung to them desperately. She had let her father’s voice soothe her when the nightmares that stalked her dreams like a wolf in the night left her screaming. Now, years later, as she sat on the cold, wet dock looking out across the water she knew that her father had been wrong; the Gods did not favour her, they mocked her.

She threw one of the pebbles in her palm into the water and watched the ripples slowly disappear. Was this how they had written the strands of her fate? Was she destined to crave that which she could never have beyond a few snatched moments? If so the Gods were crueler than she ever could have imagined.

“So this is where you ran to. You left so quickly I feared something had happened.” Blue eyes slipped closed as Randvi’s soft voice washed over her like a balm on an old injury, soothing her pain for the briefest of moments before that pain returned tenfold. Randvi sat beside Eivor and looked across the water, her eyes darting between the mirky depths and the woman by her side as she tried to delay the inevitable.

Eivor threw another stone. “How is my brother?” The question came naturally to her now – how many years had she spent enquiring about his health before anyone else’s?

“He is…as he once was. He still has moments of anger, but they are less frequent.” Eivor nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on her own reflection as she stared into the water. She looked older than her years suggested, the lines on her face speaking of toil and hard work. As she studied her own image, her mind drifted to Trygve who had aged overnight with the passing of Hemming Jarl. Thoughts of Trygve inevitably led to her reflecting on Snotinghamscire and the blissful weeks she had spent away from the affairs of her brother. Was this what her father had meant when he had spoken of pain?

“Eivor…I-I must tell you something.” Eivor forced herself not to react as Randvi turned to face her with a heaviness in her eyes. She had long suspected that this would be how their relationship would end but that did not mean she would embrace it with open arms. Still, perhaps she was wrong? Perhaps the words she had imagined being spoken when she was at her weakest would not come…

“Basim spoke to me…of duty and honour…of how I… _we_ are respected by our people.”

“Randvi—” She did not wish to hear more. Her vision began to blur as Randvi forced herself to continue, her voice breaking as her own tears began to well in her eyes.

“How our actions and inactions are viewed by those who look to us for guidance, strength, hope…”

“Speak plainly Randvi, do not hide behind Basim’s words.” She had grown tired of entertaining that man and his increased influence among her people; if Randvi was to break her heart she would rather it be her words that struck the fatal blow, not his.

Randvi bit her lip as she balked at Eivor’s harsh tone. “I… I have been unfair to you. I pursued you whilst married to another, knowing full well that I could not have you, could not give you all you deserved.” She did not bother to wipe away the tears that slipped down her cheeks; she needed Eivor to see just how agonising it was for her to say the words she had once sworn she would never say.

“Sigurd has recovered much of what he lost but he still needs me, needs _us._ He needs our strength to lead this clan Eivor. I cannot leave him to face his demons alone--

“Yet you leave me to face mine.” The words were forced out into the open through gritted teeth as Eivor exploded from the docks and began pacing back and forth, her eyes darting between the water and the woman sat before her. Had she not suffered as much as Sigurd? Had her own agonies not rivaled his? Her hands threaded through her hair, flinching as fingers tugged on knots. She could deal with pain; pain was familiar, safe, comforting in its familiarity. Waiting for the woman she loved to pierce her heart was anything but.

“Eivor please, _listen to me!_ ” Randvi moved so she was standing before Eivor and gripped her shoulders tightly. How many times had they stood in this position, with hands holding tightly to each other as words which should never have been spoken passed their lips?

“It is unfair of me to make you wait for something I cannot guarantee, no matter how much I wish to. Please Eivor!”

“Did I not say I would wait?” Memories of words spoken at the sunken tower clouded Randvi’s mind and threatened to shatter her resolve.

“You did, and I was cruel to let you say those words.”

“By the Gods Randvi! After everything we have said…everything we have _done…_ ”

“I cannot give you what you deserve Eivor!”

_Gods forgive me …_

“Did you…Was I simply a plaything to amuse you while Sigurd…” Randvi’s palms cupped Eivor’s cheeks tightly, not allowing her to look away as she pleaded with her to understand.

“No! Doubt my honour, my integrity, but never _never_ doubt my love for you. I love you more than I have loved anyone but it… it isn’t enough, not right now.”

Eivor huffed in disbelief before slipping from her embrace to stand by the water's edge. The words she had spoken in Snotinghamscire assaulted her ears and left her dizzy with despair. Had their time together meant so little? Had her words of love, spoken in the afterglow of their lovemaking meant nothing? No, she could not accept this.

“I…I do not understand Randvi…” She wanted to scream; to howl and rage against the unfairness of fate. The precious moments they had shared over the years; the sunken tower, sparring in the dirt, fighting at each other’s side, all of it had passed her by in an instant and left her with nothing but broken promises of a future.

“You think this easy for me? That my heart is not breaking? Eivor, I do not want this!”

_Please understand…Gods please try to understand…_

“What do you want Randvi?” Her voice sounded so small, like a child seeking reassurance.

_You…always you, forever you…_

Pleading emerald met hesitant blue as the silence between them stretched into the distance.

Eivor shook her head in defeat; what did it matter what they wanted. “No…forgive me I – “Randvi shook her head as tears spilled down her cheeks. She could not allow Eivor to bear the shame of her decision or ask for forgiveness when it was her dagger buried deep in her lover’s chest.

“No, please there is nothi- “

“Enough…just…enough.” She obediently fell silent. No words could be spoken that could undo what she had done, what she had sworn she would _never_ do again.

Eivor turned back to Randvi with a blank expression, the sight of which stopped Randvi’s heart and forced a sob of grief from her chest. This was not right. This was not fair.

_I fear you have ruined me Randvi…_

“My heart is yours.” Eivor’s words were carried away on a gust of wind, never to be repeated unless the Gods one day showed her mercy. “For however long you wish to keep it.” Her eyes flickered to the ground. “If you wish me to leave I will –”

“Don’t.” Randvi’s voice sounded as broken as her own as she crossed the short distance between them. “I have no right…but please… _please…_ ”

Eivor’s gaze drifted to the beaten path that led through the trees. She could leave; it would not be difficult to steal a horse from the stables and ride into the night. No one would stop her, no would find her and yet…

“No…perhaps one day the winds will call me elsewhere…” The image of Eivor sailing away to new lands left Randvi weak and desperate, her fingers frantically gripping the woman’s wrist as if she could force the woman to stay through sheer willpower.

_Don’t leave me…you do not deserve this but please…please do not leave me alone…_

“Forgive me…”

Eivor shook her head, too tired to offer the forgiveness Randvi craved even though there was nothing to forgive. Fate had brought them together and now fate would drive them apart once more; to resent this would be like resenting the push and pull of the ocean.

“We hope for so many things in this life. Yet we earn so few of them.” Words spoken months ago now tasted bitter in her mouth. Gone were the days of sweet words and gentle kisses; those days now belonged to the past and were lost to her forever.

“The Gods decided my fate long ago Randvi…it is time I embraced it.” Her father had told her that Odin watched her steps, that the fates had painted her road to Valhalla with glory and pain. She had tasted the bitterness of pain, had relished in its honesty – perhaps now she should look to glory to warm her bed.

“Eivor I…I wish things could be different…maybe in time – “

Eivor shook her head. “If this is your decision… it must be final.”

_I will not have my heart broken again…_

Her heart rebelled against such vile terms that would see Eivor lost to her forever but what choice did she have? She forced herself to look Eivor in the eye as she nodded once, committing the hurt in the drengr’s face to memory as a final act of penance.

The drengr took a deep breath as she accepted the inevitable. All she had wanted was Randvi’s happiness and if she could no longer be its source, she prayed that she would find it somewhere else.

“Here.”

Shaking hands slowly reached for the piece of jewelry Eivor offered to her, their fingertips brushing softly before Eivor’s withdrew completely. The ring was beautiful in its simplicity, the silver catching the moonlight as she rolled it between her fingers.

“A token… of my…my”

_Love…adoration…loyalty…devotion…such words seem hollow now…_

“Eivor I…”

The drengr turned and walked away, her steps quick and confident despite the lump in her throat.

“May we endure this pain.” She muttered with a final look over her shoulder at the woman who would forever remain tied to her. “and if the Gods wish it so…may we find one another again. In this life or the next.”

Randvi gripped the ring tightly in her hand as she collapsed to the dock, her sobs echoing through the settlement as she cried for what they had lost, for everything she had sacrificed for the sake of duty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen....there is happiness at the end of this rainbow, I swear.


	14. Lincolnscire

Eivor gritted her teeth as she wrenched her axe from the back of a slain Saxon soldier, grimacing as blood spilt from the wound to soak the earth underneath him. She quickly wiped the blade on the edge of his tunic before standing and surveying the smouldering remains of the Cathedral.

It had been a bloody but necessary battle that had taken the life of another order member and secured her young charge’s safety – an outcome she was happy with despite the ache she felt in her heart for all he had endured. Her eyes landed on the still form of Bishop Herefrith who now lay dead at her feet, his lifeless eyes staring at the altar of the God he had once claimed to worship.

_Another medallion to deliver…another death to my name…_

“Such carnage!” Hunwald’s voice was shaky as he gripped his sword tightly and moved to Eivor’s side. “Do your Gods really enjoy this?” Eivor’s answering grin was vicious but endearing.

“The din of battle rings in the ears of Thor and Odin Hunwald!” He shook his head in confusion; he did not understand the appeal of death and he hoped he never would.

“You did well Hunwald. Notched a few scars in your baby fat today.” He blushed at her praise as they walked from the church and into the courtyard where their allies were gathered in celebration. She shoved him towards the barrel of ale her raiders had hauled from the cellars of the chapel before slipping away to give thanks to Odin for her victories.

It had been more a dirty fight than a full-scale battle. Sculking through churches in pursuit of one man was hardly honourable work for a mighty warrior but she was glad to do it; she was glad to do anything that would distract her from traitorous thoughts. Her muscles throbbed with adrenaline as she quickly climbed the wooden tower by the gate and sat heavily on the end of a wooden beam, staring into the distance as her thoughts drifted.

Lincolnscire was now a friend to her clan and Hunwald would shortly take his father’s seat as Ealdorman – a worthy but heavy title for one so green to the affairs of the world. She should feel pleased at the path that now lay open before the young swan but instead, her heart was heavy with worry – Hunwald was a sweet boy with eyes bright with excitement but that excitement could easily dim and be replaced with anguish and bitterness - such was the nature of the world.

_This land will be cruel to you Hunwald. Do not let yourself absorb it or I fear you will walk a short path…_

The sounds of cheers echoing through the ruins of the fortress drew her attention to the warriors below and she smiled at the sight of Saxon’s and Danes drinking heartily. Joy was hard to come by during these times and she hoped that those who felt its warmth in their breast would cherish it before it inevitably faded.

Her eyes drifted to the snow-capped mountains in the distance as she reflected on her own joy which had been so recently snuffed out by cold, cruel words. The morning after the night spent on the dock had been spent wondering the settlement in a daze, a cloud of confusion clinging to her as she tried to understand why the fates would curse her with a heart that would only beat for one person. To let her love and be loved so deeply, only for it to be ripped away so suddenly spoke of a cruelty she had never imagined possible from the Gods who were said to have blessed her.

She had left for Lincoln as soon as the sun had risen over the hills, desperate to escape the memories that clung to every branch and building of the settlement. She had not looked at Randvi as she delivered the news that she would leave to barter another alliance, stubbornly staring down at the map until Randvi wished her well and fled into her chambers. Despite every muscle in her body screaming at her to follow her, she remained still, her hands gripping the edge of the table tightly as the sound of muffled sobs reached her.

Eivor forced the memory from her mind as she gritted her teeth and roughly ran blood-stained fingers through her hair. She had hoped the pain would ease as the weeks had passed, that time and distance would allow her to reconcile herself with the way their relationship had ended but the agony she felt whenever her thoughts drifted to Randvi had become more acute, more distracting. Yet despite the heartache she continued to endure, she did not regret the days spent by Randvi’s side nor did she wish to forget those precious moments that existed only in her memory. 

“Eivor!!” Hunwald’s voice echoed over the cries of the wounded and cheers of the living and forced a dry smile from her lips. She stood slowly and with a final look to make sure the haybale was where it should be, leapt from the wooden beam and fell to the earth with a gentle thump. She lay still for a few moments as her heart slowed before she climbed out of the haystack, brushing strands of hay from her armour before walking towards a stunned Hunwald.

“You …how …angel?” She grinned as his ale muddled brain tried to make sense of what he had seen.

“Angel? I have been called worse…” Memories of Randvi calling her ‘my love’ or ‘darling’ flashed through her mind and left her breathless and cold.

_Enough…such times are lost to me now…_

“A leap of faith Hunwald.” She gripped his shoulder and led him away from death and destruction. “Nothing more.”

\--

Randvi’s eyes drifted from her husband to the archway of the Longhouse as he and Basim discussed the subject of his visions, his father and the home of his birth. She did not care for such words, in fact, she resented them; she resented anything that drew her husband’s attention away from the people he was meant to lead. The people whose opinion mattered to her so greatly that she had willingly broken the heart of the person she loved most.

She stared resolutely ahead as his voice rose in excitement, her hands clenching tightly as she fought to hold her tongue. Had she not forfeited her own happiness for the betterment of their clan? Should he not now do the same?

_Why will you not sacrifice your dreams like I have sacrificed mine?_

A heavy sigh slipped from her lips as her thoughts drifted again to Eivor who she had barely seen since that terrible night. Eivor had stayed true to her word and remained within the settlement until a loud boy with dreams of defending his father’s honour drew the warrior from her side. She had known it would only be a matter of time but that had done nothing to quieten her fears as Eivor appeared in the archway of her chambers with her axe in hand.

Tired, frustrated eyes flickered to her husband a final time before she pushed herself away from the pillar she had been leaning against and stormed from the room.

“Excuse me, husband.” He was too consumed with his own thoughts to notice her leave, a fact that weighed heavily on her mind as she slipped from the hall and walked toward the stables.

When she had broken Eivor’s heart she had done so firmly believing that she was doing what was best for their people and their Jarl. Her belief that she was fulfilling the duty she had willingly accepted when their clans were joined so long ago should have been enough to comfort her when the full weight of her loss struck her heart and left her aching for Eivor’s embrace, but all it had done was feed the growing resentment she now felt towards her husband.

_I do not deserve this…you, Eivor, did not deserve this…_

After speaking with Rowan and promising to return his horse by nightfall she set off through the trees that surrounded the settlement, guiding her mount down the path she had travelled so many times before. 

_I was a wildling of the open-air once …I used to be many things before becoming this staunch and stoic woman…_

The wind rippled past her as she urged her mount faster, smiling as stray strands of hair tumbled from her braid and whipped against her cheeks; it felt good to be out in the open in spite of her reasons for leaving.

She made quick work of the journey and soon she was standing in the shadow of the sunken tower, its high walls bathing the lake in shadow as the sun sank lower in the sky.

She hadn’t intended to travel this far south of the settlement but she had felt drawn to the tower by the memories contained within its stone walls; memories of a time when she knew what she wanted and felt no guilt in pursuing it. She slipped from the saddle and with a deep breath, dived from the bridge into the cold water below. It felt colder than the last time she had plunged into the mirky depths but it hardly mattered, not when her own guilt and anger boiled her blood and kept her warm. Her fingers gripped what remained of the far wall of the tower and she hauled herself from the water and began the slow climb.

_Mind where you put your fingers. These stones are old and weathered…_

Eivor had sounded so concerned for her welfare when she had spoken of weathered stones so long ago. Looking back, she couldn’t believe she was ever afraid that Eivor would not return her feelings; the proof had always been there - in her voice, her eyes, her touch – all things that were now lost to her.

As she passed through the open window to stand where she had once stood, she wondered if Eivor would ever show such concern for her again. She looked down at the trees and the rivers that she had once considered to be the most beautiful sight in of all England with a heavy heart.

_This was a stunning view once…_

It was still a stunning view only now the colours seemed duller, less vibrant than they once had appeared. The landscape hadn’t changed but she had; no longer was she a woman who believed the Gods could be kind to her, who believed that she could be selfish and not have to bear the consequences of her choices.

_My heart is yours…for however long you wish to keep it…_

Anger threatened to overwhelm her as she remembered how broken Eivor had sounded when she had uttered those words into the wind. She did not want Eivor’s heart - she did not deserve to hold her affections after what she had done. She deserved nothing but misery and coldness and yet the smallest, most selfish part of her still hoped that things would change and that Eivor would embrace her as she once did.

_If this is your decision… it must be final._

No…She was selfish and cruel to hope that Eivor would still wait for her. She had silently agreed that she would never bother Eivor with her affections again, an agreement that had nearly destroyed her; she had no right to hope they could ever be anything more than they now were.

Her fingers gripped the ring Eivor had given her tightly, the cool metal digging into her palm as she tried to stifle the cries threatening to burst from her chest. She had broken Eivor’s heart and her own for the sake of duty, a duty she no longer believed she could fulfil.

_I’m sorry…Gods I’m so sorry Eivor…_

\--

Eivor had stayed in the young Ealdorman’s company for another day before the winds had inevitably called her back to her people, back to Randvi. He had hovered by her side like a child as she finished securing her weapons to her mount until suddenly, he flung himself into her arms and held tightly to her. It had taken several seconds of stunned silence before she could react, awkwardly patting his shoulder as she waited for him to gain control of his emotions.

“Blast it, I am a horror with goodbyes.” Hunwald’s strained voice had been muffled against her shoulder but she had heard him clearly, rolling her eyes at his dramatic nature before she stepped back and gripped his shoulders tightly.

“We are bonded you and I, and the day may come where I need your aid and you mine.” He nodded solemnly; she had shown him a degree of kindness he had not known for many years and he would gladly take up his sword in her defence should the need arise. With a final squeeze of his shoulder, she pushed him gently towards the fort.

“Return to your people Hunwald.” She waited for him to disappear from view before taking a deep breath and mounting her horse. Hunwald’s desire to prove himself worthy in the eyes of his father and his people had struck a chord within her, filling her with a longing to see him succeed in his endeavours no matter how foolish they appeared to be.

_Farewell ferocious swan, until our paths meet again…_

The silver medallion she had claimed from the dead bishop felt heavy in her pocket as she rode through fields of green towards her home. She had suspected something was amiss about the Bishop from the moment she was introduced but she would never have thought a holy man could turn on his own God, all for the promise of more earthly rewards.

_These Saxons are strong with a sword but weak with their faith when it comes to coin…_

The adrenaline which had flowed through her veins following their siege on the fort had long since dissipated but as she rode closer to her settlement, she was struck with a desire to feel that same rush again. She knew she was acting reckless and taking more risks with her health than she usually would but she knew of no other way to work through the emotions which kept her hostage.

The sound of a horn bellowing in the distance caught her attention and she spurred her mount over the lip of a hill, her eyes scanning the road beneath her before landing on a lone rider.

_One of the Order’s prized fighters…a zealot…_

She had encountered a few of these warriors during her travels and these encounters had always ended in bloodshed. Yet her desire to feel something other than heartbreak clouded her judgement and blinded her to any risks. 

_I should walk away…no, I walked away once before…I will not do so again…_

She slipped the new bow from her shoulders, knocked an arrow and let it loose, watching with bloodthirsty eyes as the arrow embedded itself in the Zealots thigh. Time seemed to slow as cold eyes searched the skyline for the assailant before landing on Eivor who stood ready.

_Thor guide me…_

She waited until the last possible moment before diving to the side as a spear brushed past her cheek, the blade slicing the delicate skin before embedding in the soft ground behind her. She reached for the discarded weapon and tested its weight in her hand before throwing it back and grinning in satisfaction as it struck true. She sprinted forwards and tackled the stunned zealot to the floor, raining down vicious punches until he managed to shove her away and clamber to his feet.

They circled each other as if they were performing a dance, trading blows and strikes for what felt like an eternity until a broad sweep of his longsword sliced her arm and sent her crashing to the earth. Dazed and breathless, she forced her sluggish legs to move, to get away from the sharp edge of the blade which was moments away from bearing down upon her. She brought her axe up to meet the steel sword at the last possible moment, both warriors flinching as their blades met in a cacophony of sound that seemed to send sparks flying.

As the zealot stumbled backwards in surprise, Eivor threw herself at him and buried the hidden blade into his neck, cringing as the blood splattered across her face. They fell to the ground and remained there, both panting heavily as one recovered their strength whilst the other lost theirs.

“I once served and prayed under Saint Chad at Tamworth…” She leaned closer to hear the zealot’s final words.

“I was a monk…”

_Another holy man who strayed from the cloth…_

“I should have stayed there…

“Did Saint Chad die with his axe in hand?” She didn’t often reply to a dying man’s words but something about this man’s story had intrigued her.

“Saint Chad will be revered for avoiding the axe. I wish I had done so myself, and not taken a path full of violent honour…” Violent honour was the only thing Eivor had left to cling to. She stared down at him as his eyes became dull and empty before placing the hilt of her axe on his chest and stumbling away with another medallion clenched in her fist.

She ran her hand over her arm and flinched as fingers came away bloody; it had been a foolish decision to challenge a zealot so soon after storming a fort but she was not thinking straight. Still, aside from a deep cut to her arm, cheek and a handful of bruises she remained relatively unharmed. She brushed the back of her hand against her cheek in a futile attempt to remove the blood from her skin before calling for her mount and sluggishly climbing into the saddle.

_No doubt I will cause concern if I appear in this bloody state…_

Would Randvi worry? Would she run from the longhouse with arms open, ready to catch her battered body as she tumbled from her mount?

A few weeks ago she knew the answer would have been yes but now she doubted whether Randvi would even leave Sigurd’s side. Grunting as her armour pulled on the stinging gash, she steered her mount towards familiar roads and forced all thoughts of what awaited her from her mind.

\--

There were not many things that could tear Gunnar away from his forge. The raiders who waited patiently for their weapons to be strengthened and sharpened knew better than to approach the blacksmith when he was hard at work, knowing that to interrupt would result in their weapon being thrown into the river. He was a diligent man, committed to perfecting his craft and serving his clan in whatever way he could, and today, it seemed that involved slipping a strong arm around Eivor’s waist as she stumbled into his modest hut.

“Gods Eivor what has happened?”

“Zealot…lucky strike…m’tired…” In truth, her blood loss had been minor but that coupled with the adrenaline and the emotional strain of the last few weeks had left her exhausted; exhausted of England, of this life, of this _pain_ – all of it.

“Wake up Wolf-Kissed.” His voice was gruff and loud in her ear, ripping her from the brink of sleep with an annoyed grumble. He poked the edge of her sleeve and smirked as she weakly batted his hands away.

_Half dead and you still fight back little wolf…_

“Enough mopping, let’s see what you have done.” Eivor gripped the material and sluggishly pulled it over her head, flinching as the material clung to her wound and re-opened it, causing a slow trickle of blood to flow down her forearm.

“You darken my door for a mere cut?” He rolled his eyes at her look of indignation before reaching for a stray cloth and wiping away the blood to inspect the wound closer. Not too deep, as he said it was practically a graze compared to previous injuries.

“You mock my mortal injury Gunnar?” He laughed as she reached for the skin of ale on the table and brought it to her lips. He took the skin from her hands and quickly tipped the liquid onto her shoulder and watched it trickle into her cut, barely flinching as she cursed him through gritted teeth.

“You want gentle? Visit Randvi.” Her heart stilled at his words before she turned to look out the window, waiting patiently as he grabbed a needle and thread. She missed Randvi, _Gods_ did she miss her. The way her smile lit up the room, the smell of lavender that clung to her hair, the taste of her lips – it was all too much.

With threaded needle in hand, Gunnar turned to Eivor with a questioning look. She smirked and shook her head; no ale, she needed to feel something other than misery and if that was pain then all the better.

“How is your axe? Need sharpening yet?” He refused to look away as he forced the needle through her skin, his brow furrowing with each inhaled breath and flinch she let slip. He bit back a smile of pride as she fiddled with the fraying fabric of her breeches; he remembered that she had not cried out when they tended to the wound on her neck either.

“It has felled many enemies. You do good work Gunnar.” His laughter rang clear and distracted her from the uncomfortable tugging as he slowly and methodically stitched her back together. They lapsed into silence as he tied the final stitch, scrutinising his work before patting her leg and letting her tug her tunic back into place.

“Thank you Gunnar.”

“Anytime but I am curious, you usually seek Randvi’s assistance with these matters?” The wife of the Jarl had developed a particular skill for tending to Eivor’s injuries, especially when those injuries were well hidden by the stubborn warrior.

“I…I feared it would need a flame.” The injury barely needed a thread and needle but Gunnar had learnt when to push Eivor further and when to respect her decisions.

Hands clasped tightly as Gunnar pulled Eivor to her feet and pushed her through the door with a relieved smile; he wasn’t sure why Eivor had come to him but he was grateful she had, if only so he could see for himself the leader she had grown into.

Her steps were slow but determined as she walked the familiar path towards the Longhouse, her beating faster as she drew closer and closer to the one place she both craved and feared to enter. She hovered on the threshold of the Alliance Room with her heart pounding in her chest as her eyes landed on Randvi. The woman’s shoulders were hunched over as she scrutinised the map in front of her, fingers gently tracing the borders that separated Lincolnshire and Ledecesterschire as her eyes narrowed in concentration.

Despite everything that had happened, being so close to Randvi still left her breathless and dizzy with longing. She could do nothing by stare as she was held captive by the sight of the other woman who had once filled the cracks of her heart with love and happiness. As her thoughts drifted to long nights spent in each other’s arms, she wondered whether she would ever feel those feelings again.

“Randvi…”

The older woman looked to the doorway with anxious eyes before she sighed with relief. Her scouts had reported that Eivor had left Lincoln days ago and yet she had not returned, a fact that had worried Sigurd but terrified her. The weight she had been carrying for too long lifted from her shoulders as she crossed the room and stood before Eivor with eyes narrowed in concern. She had spent countless days imagining the moment Eivor would appear in the entryway with dark eyes and her name on her lips, had spent sleepless nights rehearsing what she would say to her but now that the moment had arrived, every word she had planned felt too empty and hollow to be spoken into the deafening silence that surrounded them.

“You’re hurt.” Randvi’s eyes lingered on her cut cheek as Eivor ducked her head in embarrassment. Rage swelled in her breast as she imagined Eivor overwhelmed by Saxon soldier, their blades shining with her blood as they pushed her further until she eventually fell at their hands. A forceful shake of her head banished the images of the woman bleeding on the ground but they had already ingrained themselves in her mind.

“Tis only a scratch.” She flinched as Randvi’s fingers tentatively brushed against her bruised and bloodied cheek. It stung, but not enough to warrant such concern from the woman who looked at her like she had been mortally wounded. Her fingers felt warm against her skin and she longed to lean into her touch, even if it was only for a single moment.

“Lincolnscire is a friend to us.” Eivor spoke firmly as hesitant fingers withdrew from her heated skin leaving behind a coldness that Eivor had grown accustomed to.

“Wonderful news.” Randvi did not care about an alliance or whether they would honour their friendship, she only cared about the woman standing before her. “And who is our ally there?” 

The Drengr smiled as her thoughts drifted to the boy who now filled his father’s seat both as Ealdorman and head of his house. A huge responsibility for one so young yet he had grasped it tightly with both hands, eager to prove himself to his people and to the memory of his father. He had reminded her of another young man she once knew with shining eyes and a naivety that was endearing.

_I pray your fate is kinder young swan…_

“Hunwald is Ealdorman of Lincolnscire. He has a noble heart and will come when we call.”

Randvi didn’t bother to hide the surprise on her face. “The loud one an Ealdorman? Well if he ever needs our aid, he need only yell.” Eivor appreciated her attempts at humour but her grief was still too raw, too fresh to feel anything but it’s icy grip on her heart. Randvi’s eyes dimmed as Eivor smiled tightly before turning and walking from the room towards the far archway.

_When did it become so difficult to watch you walk away?_

“Eivor…” She had no right to say her name, no right to call out to her when she had been the one to drive her away and yet that was precisely what she was doing. Eivor paused in her steps but did not turn around, choosing to stare ahead as Randvi’s footsteps approached her. If she turned around, if she looked into sorrow-filled eyes that no doubt mirrored her own, she feared she would take her in her arms and never let go. She did not turn when she felt Randvi’s presence by her shoulder nor did she react when terrified fingers gripped the edge of her sleeve.

“Is this how it must be between us?” After the night spent on the docks she had suspected that Eivor would keep her distance for a short time but she selfishly hoped that she would eventually return to her side, but the days had merged into weeks and still the younger woman slept in the Raiders Barracks, never once setting foot in the Longhouse unless she was summoned by her brother. Randvi could bear this torture no longer yet she feared she would have to.

“I…I do not wish for it to be so… but for now at least…”

“I understand.” She truly did, probably more than Eivor was willing to accept. As the drengr slipped free of her grip, Randvi prayed to whichever of the Gods were listening that the two could claw back some semblance of a relationship, even if it was only a fragment of what they had once had.

\-- 

Her brother had not been impressed with Eivor’s recent behaviour; her self-imposed exile from the Longhouse, the days spent disappearing into the woods only to return in the early hours, the crestfallen expression permanently etched on her face – all these things had kept him awake at night as worry plagued his thoughts. He had tried to speak to her alone but she was quicker than he was, often slipping away before he even had a chance to utter a word of greeting. Her behaviour was that of a child and he would see it stopped.

“Eivor, come.” He did not wait for her to rise from her seat at the back of the hall before walking towards the alliance map that was littered with stab wounds. He nodded at Basim and Randvi, who had been discussing the former’s homeland before standing by the map with his eyes fixed on one location in particular.

Eivor approached her brother with guarded eyes that flickered briefly to Randvi and Basim before falling to the map.

“Basim tells me you have known Gorm’s location for months.” That was true, she had known the son of Kjotve had fled to the West but she had been too consumed with problems closer to home to pursue him across the whale-road.

“Yes…I- “

“But you have done nothing with this knowledge?”

“No, but I- “

“This is surprising.” She gritted her teeth as Basim approached to peer down at the map before looking to her. “Does Gorm not dishonour your father’s memory by continuing to live unhindered?” Her fingers glided over the blade of her father’s axe as shame she had forced herself to reconcile with began to sting her cheeks.

“Does fear of such a perilous journey still your blade Wolf-Kissed?”

A snarl of outrage burst from her throat as she moved towards him with weapon partially drawn. “I do not fear death, Hidden One.”

“Enough.” Sigurd’s voice cut through the growing tension like a knife and silenced her protests with brutal finality.

“Eivor…” Randvi’s voice was whispered so softly that only Eivor heard it yet she refused to react; gone were the days when her soft voice could bend her iron will.

“If that is true what stops you from ending the life of Gorm Kjotvesson? Your jarl is returned, your settlement is thriving…does your father not deserve this final insult be wiped clean?” His words rang true however much she hated to admit it; the reasons she had delayed setting sail had vanished into thin air with Sigurd’s’ returns and Randvi’s rejection– why should she not sail the blue road to remove the final stain on her honour?

“I will need passage- “The sound of hands slapping wood forced her gaze to land on her exuberant brother – no doubt he thought her dark mood was because of Gorm and now by his command, the light would surely return to her.

_I wish it were so brother…_

“Randvi has already found someone, they are waiting by the docks.”

_Is my presence too unbearable for you…do you wish me gone from your sight so eagerly?_

Randvi could only watch as Sigurd guided Eivor from the room, her own fear threatening to claw from her throat and split the air with a scream of denial. Vinland was a rumour, a myth; she was sending Eivor across the whale-road in search of something which likely only existed in the minds of madmen. Images of boats capsizing, of Eivor, frantically beating against the relentless tide as it dragged her under flooded her thoughts and left her shaking with terror.

_No…you cannot leave…Gods don’t leave me…_

Eivor’s voice echoed through the hallway. “I will go now, and end the life of Gorm Kjotvesson where they Valkyries cannot find him.”

_Don’t push her down this path Sigurd…surely you know the dangers she will face…or do you no longer care for anyone’s welfare but your own…_

“Good, and when you return, we will talk of our futures.” The two parted ways with clasped hands and words that spoke of honour reclaimed before Eivor disappeared into her chambers to prepare for her voyage and Sigurd returned to Basim’s side. Randvi waited until the two men had returned to their own visions of exploration before slipping from their sides and rushing towards Eivor’s chambers. Crossing the oceans was a dangerous endeavour but to cross it with no guarantee they would even make landfall was a death wish.

The drengr pulled her weapons from the wall and lay them on her bed, scrutinising them carefully as she selected which would accompany her across the whale-road as Randvi burst through the archway.

“Don’t go.” Eivor flinched at Randvi’s tone. The woman sounded afraid almost helpless yet Eivor did not know why; was this not, as her brother had pointed out, her duty to fulfil? Did her father not deserve to rest in Helheim knowing those who had betrayed him lay dead?

“I must.” She fiddled with the strap of her hidden blade as she considered leaving it behind; it was a precious blade and she would hate for it to be damaged during the voyage.

“No…no you do not. You are choosing to go!” Randvi’s voice rose higher as Eivor stubbornly refused to face her. She no longer cared if Basim or her husband heard her, she would yell as loud as she could if it meant Eivor would just _stay._

“I am destined to wipe out Kjotve and his clan…you know this.” Randvi had known that Eivor’s fate was tied to that of Kjotve since the moment she first heard the name ‘Wolf-Kissed’ but knowing and understanding were two different things.

“He is far from these lands. He will never again have an influence over our lives! Is that not enough?”

“I will not rest until my honour is cleansed of his father’s filth.”

Randvi scoffed at her answer, not caring at how Eivor had bristled at the sound. She was too tired, too angry to care about anything other than Eivor seeing the sense in her words.

“And what of those you leave behind? What will happen to us if you die in your pursuit of revenge?”

Hands which had been fiddling with the string of a bow paused in their work, her eyes slipping to Randvi as she thought of what could happen. Her brother would defend his clan even to death, as would every man and woman within their boundaries. They had allies they could call upon, friendships that would be honoured; Eivor had no doubt that her people would thrive in her absence.

She placed the bow to the side before turning to face Randvi. “If I am fated to die then it will be so, but I will not let Gorm Kjotvesson remain alive.”

Randvi threw her hands into the air as she groaned in frustration. This desire, this obsession with Kjotve’s clan had nearly destroyed Eivor once - she could not allow it to destroy her again.

“Why must you cling to fate so tightly? Eivor frowned at Randvi’s question. Fate had been the only thing that had kept her alive during the fragile years of her youth. Believing that every pain and loss she suffered was part of the path designed for her by the Gods was the only thing that had stopped her from going mad with grief. She thought Randvi of all people would have understood this. It seemed that they had not understood each other at all.

The Drengr stared unflinchingly at Randvi. “Why must you cling so tightly to duty?” She regretted asking the question the moment she heard Randvi gasp. It was a cruel question to ask, one neither of them deserved to hear and yet it was a fair question. She had spent many nights gazing up at the stars trying to understand _why_ Randvi had clung to duty above everything else, above _her_. She wanted to understand, she was desperate to but no answers had come to her in the dead of night.

She rubbed her eyes as a wave of exhaustion ran through her; she did not wish to part on bitter terms. “Forgive me…I did not mean—”

“It is a long voyage.” Randvi snapped before storming from the room and leaving Eivor alone with her regret. “Prepare accordingly.” She would not weep for one who so clearly wished for death, no matter how responsible she felt for the woman’s reckless attitude and yet she did not fight the tears that welled in her eyes as she imagined her life without Eivor by her side.

To think she may never again see her standing in the archway, hear her reporting on the new alliances she had forged or feel her arms wrapped around her left her gasping for air.

_No…this cannot be your fate…this cannot be our fate…_

\--

“Nessa, is it? I am Eivor. Randvi said you would be my guide.”

The woman glanced up at the warrior before turning her attention back to the knots she was slowly unravelling. “That is right. Passage across the seas to Saint Brendan’s land. Is that right?”

_More Saints? Has Christianity reached so far?_

“Randvi called it Vinland.” She couldn’t imagine that the table maiden could be wrong about this but then, she had been wrong before.

“One and the same. It is a three-week trip by longship. Arduous, dull, possibly fatal.” If not for the teasing smile gracing Nessa’s face Eivor would have been worried.

“Arduous, dull and possibly fatal are the makings of a good story. Should we survive, you will be compensated.” The two nodded with Nessa returning to her preparations whilst Eivor kept out of the way. She would have no say in matters during their voyage nor would her voice carry any weight – she would exist only as a traveller.

“Eivor!” The drengr turned in surprise as Randvi approached carrying a bundle under her arm. The woman had avoided her since they spoke in the Longhouse and Eivor had regretfully accepted that the last words spoken between had been that of anger. Her eyes drifted to the bundle but before she could ask of its contents, it was shoved roughly into her hands.

“You must be dressed as a thrall when you arrive. To be seen as you are would raise suspicions.” Realisation dawned on her face as she gripped the clothes tightly before looking down at her armour and weapons; these would give her away even before they landed. Not caring for those around her, she dropped the bundle to the dock and started tugging and pulling the leather over her head. Randvi’s eyes widened as more of Eivor’s skin was revealed to her, her pulse racing as she took in the lines of her stomach and the swell of her breasts under her chest wrap. She forced her gaze to the water as her cheeks burned and prayed to Freyja that this agony would soon pass before she lost all control.

When she did finally hazard a glance at the now dressed warrior, her brow furrowed at the sadness on her face. Her eyes dropped to Eivor’s hands which were gently holding her father’s axe, her fingers running along the silver embraided on the handle as she looked to the river with a faraway expression.

“Here.” She held the axe out to Randvi who took it gently; it was heavier than she expected but easy to handle. She would treasure this possession until she could return it to its rightful owner whether that be when she walked among them once more or on her funeral pyre.

“Gorm runs this new camp, and it is a good bet all but a few will be loyal to him.”

“Good thinking, thank you.”

“Eivor…” She stepped closer as Eivor’s breath caught in her throat. “You are walking into a fight with no friends or allies. Do not let your vengeance cloud your judgement.” The drengr shook her head as Nessa tapped her on the shoulder.

“If we leave now we will catch the tide.”

“Of course.” A final glance around the settlement was all Eivor afforded herself before stepping into the boat and taking the empty seat.

“Eivor wait…”

“Randvi…?”

The woman hesitated at the side of the boat before she leaned closer, gripping the wood tightly as if her own strength could prevent Eivor from sailing away.

“I…I …”

_I love you Eivor_

_Please come home to me_

_I’m so sorry, please say I can fix this_

“Be safe Eivor. May the blessings of Freyja guide you on your journey.”

Eivor felt the tiny spark of hope disappear as she watched Randvi step away from the edge of the dock. She wanted to reach out to her, to feel her touch a final time before she slipped too far from her side but she feared the distance between them was already too great.

Randvi bit her lip as her throat tightened painfully. There was so much more to be said, things she may never get the chance to tell her but at that moment all she could reflect on was the terms she had agreed when she had broken hearts for duty. She had no right to burden Eivor further with her desires, not until she could prove herself worthy of her affections.

As the longboat slipped its moorings and slowly began to disappear from view, all she could do was watch helplessly and pray to the Gods she would get the chance to earn Eivor’s forgiveness.

__


	15. Vinland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's smut ahead...consider it my apology for the delay...and the angst...oh man the angst...

Randvi had been preparing a list of fish and meats she wished to purchase and smoke for the coming winter months when the sound of distant, hesitant steps first reached her ears. The days passed slowly now that their prized drengr had slipped from their collective grasp, her absence creating a void that she had tried to fill with repetitive tasks and tedious chores; chores which she should have been completed when the sun was high and not by the flicker of candlelight. She looked up with concern as the footsteps grew louder; any news delivered at this late hour was either urgent or deadly and neither option sat well with her. With a silent, desperate prayer to Freyja on her lips, she pushed herself away from her desk and waited by the archway for the visitor to make themselves known.

“Sunniva?” The scout looked troubled as she stepped from the darkness and into Randvi’s domain with a scribbled note clenched tightly in her shaking hands. Emerald eyes stared unflinchingly at the young woman who was struggling to form a sentence.

“Randvi …I…” Her voice broke as the woman rushed forwards with outstretched arms and terror in her eyes; she had seen her scout anxious and afraid in the past but never had she seen her so distraught.

“What is it? What has happened?” Sunniva shook her head as Randvi held her tightly for several long minutes until the young woman pushed herself away with a mumbled apology. The two women stared at each other as Sunniva took a deep breath; she had to repeat the words that had been gut-wrenching to hear. She had to say them no matter how much it would kill her to say and for Randvi to hear…

“It’s…it’s Eivor _…”_

_No…gods no…please…_

“Tell me.” The whispered command managed to cut through the haze of grief and denial that enveloped Sunniva, the words tumbling from her mouth as Randvi shivered in the cold air.

“There…there was a storm …their ship it…we think it capsized. We found wood on the water; wood Gudrun claimed as hers…she’s…”

Randvi stumbled backward and reached blindly for the table as her strength failed her. There was no hope of survival if their vessel capsized so far out to sea. No hope… Eivor was…was

“Dead. She is dead Randvi.” Tears slipped silently down her cheeks as her heart shattered.

“No…she can’t be…”

“And it is your fault.”

“No…”

A sinister grin appeared on the woman’s usually pleasant features.

“You found her a guide. You arranged her passage across the whale-road…she is dead because you killed her.”

_No…I didn’t…couldn’t…_

“NO!”

Sunniva’s silhouette faded into the darkness of her chambers as Randvi bolted upright with terrified eyes and a scream on her lips. Her breath was heavy and quick as she threw back the sweat-soaked furs and stumbled towards the entryway, her eyes frantically scanning the darkness for any sign of her friend. After a few seconds of staring into the darkness and straining to hear the sounds of footsteps, a ragged sigh of relief slipped from her lungs as she wandered through the empty chamber to peer into the main hall. Empty, thank Tyr.

_A dream… nothing more than a dream…_

Her hands trembled as she ran them through sleep-tussled hair and she cringed at the beads of sweat that clung to the red strands; nightmares were a common occurrence for someone who was always left behind when her people travelled the seas but they had never been like this. Never _ever_ as bad as this.

The first night following Eivor’s departure for Vinland had been spent tossing and turning into the early hours until she had slipped from her husband’s bed with a grumble of frustration to walk the boundaries of the settlement. She had known then, as she stood on the edge of the docks with her gaze firmly fixed to Vinland, that she should have told Eivor she loved her, had always loved her, would never stop loving her. Instead, she had kept silent and watched Eivor’s longship sail her across the seas with nothing but a desperate prayer on her lips. After that, the nightmares had started.

Her eyes flickered closed as she felt the adrenaline fade from her body only to be replaced by a weariness she felt deep in her bones. She was tired, _incredibly_ tired, and yet despite this she knew no sleep would come to her tonight, not when her mind remained fixated on capsized ships, lonely watery graves, and the choices she had made that could…could...

_It was a dream…Eivor is safe…she is far from my side but she is safe…she has to be safe…_

She had not allowed herself to dwell on the risks Eivor took by crossing the open seas to kill Gorm, knowing that if she thought about it for a single second she would break; but now, in the darkness with nothing to distract her, it was also she could think about. 

She could die crossing the oceans…

She could be mortally wounded by Gorm’s thegns and left to die far from those she loved…

She could leap from a building into a pile of hay and break every bone in her body…

Despite the horrifying thoughts circling through her mind, she smiled at the image of Eivor soaring through the air like an eagle. She had once quizzed the drengr on why she felt the need to jump from vantage points but she had simply flashed her that infuriating smile that left her weak at the knees.

The sound of approaching footsteps drained all colour from her face as she stared into the void, her gaze sweeping past shadows that seemed to jump out at her to land on a lone figure.

“Randvi? Are you well?” She tried not to let her disdain for the man show as Basim stepped closer; it was not his fault that her heart, the very reason for her existence was missing.

“Basim. It is late and my husband is…” Sleeping? Wandering the settlement? She did not know and as images of Eivor sinking into the ocean assaulted her mind and left her trembling she found she did not care.

He approached one of the tables and plucked an apple from a silver bowl, biting into the crisp flesh as he leaned against Sigurd’s throne. “Our Jarl is restless, as are you it seems?”

“Yes, I am.”

His lips twitched as he took in her disheveled state. “As am I.” He had seemed genuinely concerned for Eivor’s welfare but Randvi had seen that look in his eyes before; it spoke of deceit, treachery, _lies_.

“Such a journey is perilous and fraught with dangers but it is a necessary journey.” She wanted to scream in the face of his arrogance; there was nothing _necessary_ about Eivor crossing the oceans in pursuit of revenge, not in her opinion. 

“With Gorm’s death may we all find a semblance of peace.”

“A semblance of peace…” Such things would not be possible until Eivor was returned to them. Until she had earned back the woman’s love, until she had earned her forgiveness she would know nothing of peace. She waited impatiently for Basim to slip from the hall with a bowed head before she let herself feel the unbearable loss Eivor’s absence had left behind. Her steps were slow as she returned to the bed which felt as wide and as cold as the ocean which separated her from Eivor. She had been gone a single week, yet to her, it had been an eternity.

\--

Three dull weeks of crossing the open seas through wind, rain, and storms, countless miles of forests tracked, numerous camps searched and cleared and Eivor was still no closer to finding Gorm. It was maddening.

The sun had barely risen above the mountains when Eivor forced herself away from the dwindling flames of her campfire to make one final trek through the forests. Olav had mentioned a camp larger than the rest on the west side of this land; he _had_ to be there. 

_I’m coming for you Gorm…I crossed the oceans to find you and now you will be wiped from this earth…_

She had used her hatred of the man to focus her thoughts through the long journey, driving her forward when her determination began to dwindle and when those thoughts failed to sustain her, she thought of Randvi.

Everything melted away when she thought of Randvi; every fear, every anxiety – everything faded when she thought of emerald eyes and flaming red hair. She had given up on trying to suppress these thoughts as the long days merged into long nights, accepting that Randvi would forever be tied to her, even if she could not be tied to Randvi.

Resisting every aching muscle in her body that screamed at her to rest for a moment longer, she gripped the spear she had managed to trade for some iron ore and headed off through the lush trees and elderberry bushes. This land was unlike anything she had ever seen before; deep red and amber leaves littered the forest floor and muffled her footsteps, trees that were as tall as giants shielded her from the sun’s rays, waterfalls that were as majestic as those of her birth soaked her bones as she walked underneath them– this land was breath-taking.

_Randvi would like it here…_

The sight of smoke rising over the treeline spurred her steps forward as her heart beat faster; she was getting close. She gripped her spear tighter as the trees surrounding her became scarcer and thinner until she stood on the edge of a cliff with the camp laid out in front of her.

_This area is heavily guarded…but why?_

She stared down at the site below, tracking the soldier’s movements closely as they poured from an open pit at the southern site carrying buckets of rock and rubble. She frowned as she inched closer to the edge; it looked like they had carved deep into the earth, permanently scarring the terrain of this land in their quest to find…something.

_What are you searching for Gorm?_

She remembered every encounter with the son of Kjotve; every battle, every brawl, every look shared that spoke of their mutual disgust but never had she known him to search for anything but death and a glorious end. She had found neither death nor glory here, so what was he looking for?

Waiting for a guard to pass her by, she dropped from the edge of the cliff into an elderberry brush with a muffled groan leaving her lips.

_Damn thorns…_

Plucking a few of the berries and shoving them in her mouth, she slowly began moving through the camp with spear in hand.

He was so close – only a few metres away and she took a breath as she considered her two options: an all-out assault or stealth. She knew which option Basim would recommend, which option Randvi would prefer she take but she was too hungry for revenge to think of stealth. This feud would end today. This cloud of rage she had been caught under for years, would clear today.

Gorm Kjotvesson would die today.

With a silent prayer to Odin and Thor, she burst through the bushes with a scream in her throat and her weapon raised. “Gorm Kjotvesson!”

“Eivor Wolf-Kissed?” He watched in horror as Eivor stormed towards him with a face that promised death.

She slammed the spear into the chest of one of Gorm’s thegn as she advanced towards her target; nothing would stop her now that she stood a mere 5 feet from her blood enemy.

“I crossed the broad sea for you Gorm – are you not flattered?”

“For one reason only I see, you snake.”

One reason only indeed…

\--

Randvi had done everything she could to distract herself during the weeks that passed so painfully slowly. Every chore that needed completing, every petty argument that had broken out and needed resolving, every menial task – she volunteered. Weeks of mind-numbing labour had left her physically and mentally exhausted and yet a restful sleep still alluded her.

The words written in front of her began to swim across the page as she blinked heavily, her eyes burning with a tiredness she refused to acknowledge. She had promised Yan-Li that she would look over her requisition lists for the coming winter and it had been a task she had put off for too long.

She tried to ignore the sound of footsteps as they approached in favour of reviewing the list in front of her until they became too loud to ignore. With a sigh of frustration, she discarded the paper and pushed herself away from her desk. As she left her chambers and moved through the Longhouse, her thoughts drifted to the coming Yule Tide festival and what they would need to do in preparation: Wood, game, ale – all of it would need to be collected or bought in bulk if they had any chance of being ready—

“Randvi?” Her steps halted as her eyes landed on a darkened silhouette standing beside Sigurd’s throne. She took a hesitant step towards them before her eyes widened at the familiar sight of sun-kissed hair, ice-blue eyes, and a gentle, reassuring smile.

“Eivor? Is that you?” The drengr grinned as she stepped closer to the stunned woman who could do nothing but sigh in relief as strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her close. The weight of Eivor’s hands on her lower back made it difficult for Randvi to question anything and she could do nothing but lean heavily into her embrace as relief flooded through her.

“It is.” Gentle, teasing kisses began trailing up and down the exposed skin of Randvi’s neck, her lips curling into a smug grin at the ragged sigh that escaped the older woman’s lungs.

“I…when did you…how are you here?”

She wanted to ask an entirely difficult question but she was too afraid of the answer, too afraid that Eivor would remember that she had broken her heart and pull away from her with barely disguised heartbreak in her eyes. Instead, she took the safer option and tried to understand just how the woman could be in her arms when the trip to Vinland took three weeks and Eivor had been gone for just over four. Her eyes fluttered shut as she felt teeth nip at her sensitive skin before warm lips soothed away the sting. How she was here wasn’t important, all that mattered was that she was here, she was _here._

“Hush, there will be time for that later…” Desperate hands could do nothing but cling to Eivor’s shoulders as she was suddenly lifted into the air, her legs automatically locking around the drengr’s waist as she moved them back towards the Alliance Room. Her mind was too unfocused to understand what was happening, too overwhelmed by the touch, taste, and smell of Eivor to care that none of this made any sense.

_She’s here…thank Freyja…she’s here…_

She was so close to giving in to the overwhelming need she felt coursing through her veins but there was something preventing her from doing just that, something incredibly important. “I’m sorry…for what I said… _Gods…”_ The warmth of Eivor’s lips against her collarbone distracted her from the coldness of the wooden table now pressing against the back of her thighs.

“No need to apologise.” The words did nothing to ease the guilt Randvi had felt for the past months as she remembered how distraught Eivor had looked that night on the docks. She wanted to explain, _needed_ to explain why she had broken her heart but it was impossible to focus on anything but Eivor’s fingers tugging insistently at her breeches. Eivor smirked as eager hips bucked against her stomach as she moved forward to fill the space between them, grinning against the column of Randvi’s neck as the woman whimpered at her touch.

“There is…I should never have…” 

Eivor gently tipped Randvi’s chin upwards before capturing her lips with her own, both moaning softly as they moved together until a need for air forced them apart. “Apologise later.”

She couldn’t apologise later, she had to apologise now. “Eivor…” Her eyes rolled back as she felt rough but gentle fingers skim across the soft skin of her thighs. Sigurd had never made her feel like this; his touch had always been cold and firm but Eivor’s touch made her feel like she was on fire like she could burn at the slightest touch of the woman’s fingers. It was thoughts of Sigurd that forced her fingers to grip the back of Eivor’s neck tightly as she waited for the woman to look at her. There was one thing, one _single_ thing that mattered to her more than anything else in that one moment.

“Forgive me… _please_ forgive me Eivor.”

“Later.” Blunt nails dug into Eivor’s skin as the drengr’s fingers disappeared between her thighs, her sigh of pleasure caressing Eivor’s cheek as the woman dipped her head to trail kisses across her shoulder. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream as she felt Eivor’s fingers slowly move against her, the burn in her lower belly growing hotter as Eivor worked her higher and higher…

“Eivor…Gods… _please_ …”

Hips rocked upwards to meet demanding fingers as she desperately chased the release that had been building since their last moments together in Snotinghamscire. She was so close, so unbearably _close_ to falling apart when Eivor took a step back and withdrew completely, leaving Randvi to grip the edge of the table as she stared in disbelief.

“Soon Randvi.” Fists that were now clenched in frustration pounded the desk before reaching for the woman who seemed impossibly far from her reach.

“When? When Eivor?”

Eivor looked at her and she froze. “If the Gods will it my love when I return.” Randvi could only watch as Eivor slipped from the room and disappeared into the oppressive darkness of the longhouse, leaving behind a stillness that was broken only by her desperate breaths.

“Ei-Eivor? Eivor!” Her voice sounded muffled to her own ears as if the words were spoken from underwater. She looked around the empty chamber as the wood underneath her fingertips became softer, fur-like…

_No…please do not say this is just a --_

Randvi’s eyes snapped open just in time to prevent a moan of desperation from echoing through the chambers and disturbing her sleeping husband. Her entire body was thrumming with desire as she felt the last fragments of her dream fade away, leaving her in a state of exquisite torture that left her breathless.

_Gods this is agony…_

She gripped the furs tightly as images of Eivor pressing against her forced a desperate whimper from her lips and she clenched her eyes tightly shut as she felt Sigurd shift beside her. Forcing herself to remain still despite the burning in the lower belly, she waited impatiently for Sigurd to slip deeper into sleep before she gripped her pillow and held it tightly to her chest.

It would be so easy to slip her hand between her thighs and give in to the desires Eivor had awoken within her but she couldn’t, not with Sigurd there. Besides, if she was to fall apart it would be Eivor’s fingers, Eivor’s lips that pushed her over the edge, not her own.

The mental image of Eivor kissing down her stomach as her hands threaded through blonde strands and tugged her closer caught her off guard and forced her from the bed; she could not lie next to a man she had been sworn to when thoughts of his sister continued to tear her apart. She gritted her teeth against the chill of the night air and slipped from the room without a backward glance, crossing the hallway in a matter of seconds to hover in the archway of Eivor’s chambers.

Her husband became a distant memory as she ran her fingers through the thick furs covering Eivor’s bed, smiling softly as she sat at the edge and reached for one of Eivor’s pillows. She didn’t know what was worse: the dreams where she imagined Eivor’s death in horrifying detail or the dreams where she woke panting and desperate for the woman’s touch. In a way it didn’t matter; both versions left her aching for the comfort of one so far from her reach.

Randvi clutched Eivor’s pillow to her chest as she leaned back against the thick furs. When Eivor had first left for Vinland, Randvi had hoped that they could claw back some remnants of the relationship they had once had but now she knew she could never be satisfied with anything less than the woman’s love. She did not know if Eivor would ever forgive her and the thought that she could look into her brilliant blue eyes and see nothing of the love she had once called hers terrified her more than the nightmares that plagued her nightly.

_I will earn your forgiveness…I will earn your love…_

Her eyes grew heavy as the scent of forests, sea salt and something unique only to Eivor enveloped her and lulled her into a deep sleep.

\--

If the Skal’s ever sang of the death of Gorm Kjotvesson, they would not sing of a battle waged with such ferocity that the Gods left their thrones to watch, nor would they sing of honour reclaimed at the edge of the blade. If any songs were to be sung, they would speak of how Gorm begged for mercy as the Wolf-Kissed drove her spear into his chest, how he stared with unbelieving eyes as darkness tinged his vision before he slipped silently from this world – a fitting end for one so dishonorable.

Eivor sat beside Gorm’s body as her fingers caressed the blood-stained silver medallion now in her grasp.

Gorm was dead.

The last son of the Oath Breaker was gone from this world.

She shook her head in disbelief as a relieved laugh burst from her lungs; her task was done; her destiny was fulfilled and now she could cross the oceans and return home.

Home

For the longest time, the concept of a home had been tied to Randvi but now that their relationship had come to an end, the word had lost its meaning. Her smile slipped into a pensive frown as she looked to the long journey that now lay ahead of her.

_Dark are the deeds that brought me here…_

She should find Nessa and arrange passage back to England.

She should look around this site and try to understand what had fascinated Gorm enough to drive him across the seas.

She should find a way to send word ahead of her to Ravensthorpe.

She should…

The exhausted warrior let herself fall back to the earth with a heavy sigh. She didn’t know what she should do. She knew what she was _expected_ to do but none of those options appealed to her right now, not when she had spent weeks away from the heavy burdens of responsibility.

She lay on the blood-stained earth as she watched whisps of cloud pass overhead to cast shadows across the ground. This land was peaceful; unstained by war and death, untroubled by the conflicts of religion – she had not thought such places could exist.

She sat up and leaned backward on her hands as a sudden, forbidden thought struck her like a bolt of lightning from Thor’s hammer.

She could stay.

A life here would be simple; no obligations, no expectations, no heartbreak – a simple life.

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes as the sun warmed her cheeks. What reasons did she have to return? A brother who was fixated on visions and prophecies, a woman who could not love her as she deserved to be loved, a clan who likely resented her for the choices she had been forced to make…

She shook her head and lay back on the warm earth; who would resent her for wanting to cling tightly to the peace she had so recently found?

Excitement flickered within her as she thought about the life she could build here for herself but as quickly as the spark had come into existence, it faded. She couldn’t stay here, no matter how much she wished she could for one simple reason:

Randvi

Her love for Randvi had not dimmed as she hoped it would as she sailed into the unknown, rather it had grown clearer, sharper, more painful. Her love for her had consumed every waking moment as she walked the path the fates had crafted, a constant warmth by her side that she had tried desperately to ignore. Every action, every choice, every path led back to Randvi.

Dark clouds began to roll in as Eivor stumbled to her feet and turned away from the lifeless form of the man she had sworn to slay; Gorm was gone as was her purpose for staying here.

_Fate may bind my bones to this land, but for now, I must walk the sea…_

\--

“Randvi, may we speak?” The question came after Sigurd had spent 5 minutes watching his wife from the entryway of their chambers, waiting for her to look up from her correspondence and notice him.

“Of course.” He smiled gratefully before offering her his arm which she readily took. They walked silently from their chambers and into the crisp air, smiling at those they passed before they sat side by side at the base of the waterfall.

“What was it you wished to discuss?” Sigurd waited a few moments as he carefully considered the words he had long wanted to say.

“It is time we discuss the terms of our union.” Of all the topics Randvi had envisioned being discussed, their marriage had not once crossed her mind. She forced herself to suppress the fear she felt as he turned to stare into the waters ahead of them. Did he suspect? Was he hurt, livid, enraged?

“We both know that we were not brought together by love but by necessity.” The gentle caress of his thumb against her knuckles soothed her worries and allowed her to listen to his words without fear.

“Ours was a union of peace, not love.”

“Sigurd I…”

“We were pledged to each other long before we knew one another. We were destined to play the roles our fathers laid ahead of us but they were not what we envisioned. It is time we accepted that our paths diverged long ago. I hope this does not come as a shock to you dear Randvi?”

His eyes fixed her with a look of concern and trepidation, one she returned with grateful acceptance. “No…I am merely surprised that- “

“That I noticed how unhappy you had become?” She often forget how insightful he could be. He grinned playfully at her discomfort before bringing her hand to his lips and kissing her gently.

“You have endured much since the winters of our joining; endured my absences, my harsh words, my neglect. I apologise for not treating you as you deserved and though you are not bound to this land I would hope that you would remain among us.”

The thought of leaving Ravensthorpe and returning to her father and sisters in Norway had crossed her mind in the months following their arrival but now, she could imagine no other place for her.

“Of course, my place is here among our… _your_ people.” A tightness gripped her chest as her eyes drifted to the settlement; would they still accept her if her ties to them were now severed? Would she still have a place amongst them?

“Clear all doubts from your mind Randvi. These people are as much yours as they are mine. They will rejoice to learn we have dissolved our union to pursue our own happiness.” He squeezed her hand a final time as they shared a smile that spoke of relief and joy; something neither had felt in each other's company for many months.

“I shall sleep in the barracks for the time being –” Images of Sunniva and Rollo barging into the Longhouse with angry words on their lips forced Randvi to interrupt Sigurd’s words with a barely hidden smile.

“No. You are our Jarl and will remain where you are. I shall sleep in the barracks –”

“You shall sleep in Eivor’s chambers until she returns, she will not mind.” Randvi felt like the earth had disappeared from beneath her feet at the suggestion. Sleeping in Eivor’s bed surrounded by her effects and personal items would be a privilege she did not deserve. She turned to Sigurd to protest but he merely smiled; there was no point fighting him on this, not when he looked at her with such fierce determination.

“Our love is steadfast.” She muttered before brushing her fingers across his cheek. “I have faith it will remain so.”

“As do I.”

\--

Eivor’s final night in Vinland had been spent gathered around a roaring fire listening to stories spoken in a language she did not understand. She had laughed deeply at Olav’s attempts to translate for her, had smiled brightly as one of the children who reminded her of Knud clambered into her lap as the night grew darker and had drank deeply from the mead shared amongst them.

She had felt a peace she could not understand envelop her as she stood on the shores with her eyes fixed to the skyline; she did not know when, but she would return to these lands.

She thought often of that night as the days spent crossing the oceans turned to weeks and how that peace had slipped from her fingers the moment the shores of England came into view. She held tightly to the ropes connected to the figurehead of the Longship as she stared at the familiar cliffs that had once called to her.

“Not the same is it?” Eivor smiled tightly as Nessa joined her to watch the shores of England grow closer.

“No…I feel…different than I did the last time I saw these isles.” Nessa nodded before patting Eivor’s shoulder in comfort; she had felt the same way when she had first returned from the mythical land.

“Saint Brendan’s has a lasting effect on those brave enough to search for it.”

Eivor prayed the effect would diminish the further she sailed away from those lands. 

The final hours of their voyage passed agonisingly slowly until Eivor felt her heart lurch at the sight of the familiar trees and rivers. They grabbed their oars and slowly dragged the longboat around the familiar river bends until the towering Longhouse that dominated the skyline came into view. The settlement looked different from how it had appeared in her memory; colder, more distant as if a thin veil separated her from it.

_Perhaps I am the one who has changed…_

“Eivor!”

“Eivor’s home!” The Drengr could only watch with cheeks burning with embarrassment as the clan’s youngest members shouted and cheered from the docks, waving ecstatically as their longboat sailed closer to home.

“You were missed it seems.” She had not seen such a crowd gathered on the docks in many years, not since Sigurd returned from his own travels abroad. Finally, the boat brushed against the side of the dock and Eivor had only a moment to protest before she found herself being dragged from the vessel and into the open arms of her clan.

“Eivor you salt-cured Vikingr! Returned to us at last!” Gunnar called from his forge as Sunniva and Rollo pushed Eivor towards the longhouse where mead awaited them. They asked many questions of her voyage and of Gorm and she knew these questions would simply grow louder the longer she delayed answering them but she was too tired to think of such matters.

“Sigurd!” Rollo’s voice split the silence and caused Randvi to leap from her seat with her heart in her throat. “Our wandering warrior returns!” The Jarl appeared in the archway with relief shining in his eyes and his arm outstretched.

“Eivor!” She smiled as Sigurd gripped her shoulder tightly and pulled her to his chest with a joyful laugh shaking his frame. Her eyes shifted to Randvi who hovered anxiously by his side with a hesitant but relieved smile on her face, the sight of which caused Eivor’s heart to beat a little faster.

“Ale!” Sigurd called for Tekla to the delight of the gathering clan who quickly disappeared to fetch barrels of amber liquid and meat that would sustain them into the early hours. Warm, hesitant fingers gripped her wrist and tugged her towards the alliance room and away from prying eyes.

“You’ve been gone for so long!” The drengr nodded as nervous fingers twisted with the empty belt buckle looped around her hips. She wanted to tell Randvi of all she had seen, all she had experienced but there were no words to describe the last few months. 

“Were…were you worried?” Randvi felt herself slump against the table in disbelief as Eivor looked at her with nervous eyes that seemed to gaze at everything but her. Of course, she was worried, she had been unable to feel anything _but_ worry as she waited for her to return.

_My love…how could you think I would not worry…_

“Of course I was.” Hesitant eyes looked up as Randvi moved closer with a reassuring smile. “Such a long voyage. Did you do what had to be done?” Memories of Randvi storming from her chambers flickered through Eivor’s mind before she nodded solemnly.

“I did. Gorm is dead. The Kjotvesson clan is wiped from this world.”

“Good.” Randvi waited patiently for Eivor to grip the handle of the dagger and wrench it free from the wood before grabbing a black raven from her dwindling supply. She made to place the Raven over the tear in the map when Eivor’s hand gently clasped her wrist and stilled her hand in mid-air.

“Eivor? What is it?”

The drengr’s eyes remained fixed on Vinland as she spoke in a hushed voice.

“Vinland is…a land that cannot be conquered by Gods or men. I would prefer it remains unmarked. I know that must seem strange…” Randvi could only stare at Eivor in awe and adoration; to travel across the seas to a land unclaimed only to leave it unclaimed was … _astounding._

“Of course Eivor, as you wish.” She could not deny the woman who had returned from the edge of the map anything, she never could.

\--

The warrior who crossed the seas to slay a single man was forced to endure hours of feasting, laughing, and drinking before she felt able to slip away from the festivities. She was grateful to be amongst her family once more but their drunken roars of the hall had become deafening. 

“Eivor! Tell us of Vinland!” The question was shouted from the depths of an emptied ale barrel much to the amusement of those gathered around it. Randvi turned with amusement in her eyes that dimmed in the face of Eivor’s hesitation. She and the rest of the clan waited as Eivor slowly walked towards them with a heavy brow and dull eyes.

_Something happened…Gods what happened…_

“My friends! Harken to me, and hear a tale of honour reclaimed!” With Sigurd’s permission, she stood before his throne and raised her ale horn to the waiting crowd. They looked up at her with pride and excitement; they each knew how much was owed to the daughter of Varin and how she had survived that night purely to exact her revenge on the men who had wronged her.

“Three cold weeks on the Whale Road, past mountains of ice and kingdoms of stone. All this way to kill one man.” She paused as she remembered the anticipation she had felt as they landed in Vinland and how it had turned to frustration the longer she was denied her vengeance.

“Gorm Kjotvesson, the son of my father’s old foe.” A rumble of disgust came from those who still remembered the insult Kjotve had forced upon her father. Her eyes lingered on Gunnar who nodded for her to continue.

“Gorm Kjotvesson, scourge of the Northern Wilds travelled far to escape my wrath, far across the seas to a land named Vinland. It is here I found him…” She knew what details they wanted to hear, what every noble warrior who had fought against Kjotve’s clan _deserved_ to hear but all she remembered was how he had whimpered in terror as life slipped from his grasp – hardly a fitting tale to recite around a roaring hearth.

“It is there he remains: alone and forgotten. That is my tale.” She stepped away from the crowds as her words were met with a mixture of disapproval and reluctant acceptance, a noise silenced by a single piercing look from their Jarl.

“A fine tale Wolf-Kissed. Your father’s honour is restored, the shame you bore wiped clean.”

_Honour restored…shame cleansed…have I not longed for such things…_

She could not stay amongst those who celebrated her return with such enthusiasm, not when her mind was still fixed on the land she had felt connected to. She looked around the hall a final time before slipping through the archway with a sigh of relief falling from her lips. She needed time to understand her affinity to Vinland, space from those she had longed to return to but more importantly, she needed _air._

Randvi watched with mounting concern as Eivor strolled away. She had spent weeks imagining the moment Eivor would return to them with tales flowing from her lips and excitement shining in her eyes, but instead, she seemed distant, uncomfortable, warry.

“Excuse me.” She smiled politely as Rollo offered to refill her ale horn and waited until he had turned away before darting for the nearest exit with a barely supressed smile. The boy was sweet but deluded; her heart was already completely devoted to another. 

The settlement seemed brighter now that Eivor was among them once more. A cloud of worry had clung to each of them as they waited for the familiar green sails to appear on the horizon and now with her return, a familiar peace had enveloped the settlement. But as she strolled towards the waterfall she couldn’t shake the worry that Eivor did not share in their joy…

“Eivor?” The drengr had been studying her reflection when Randvi came across her by the water's edge. The sight of her love looking so pensive as she stared down at herself robbed Randvi of what little air remained in her lungs and replaced it with quiet dread.

“Forgive me.” The words were whispered into the air and carried to Randvi on a gust of wind. “… I needed a moment of silence.” Randvi could understand that; their clan had a reputation for throwing feasts that could be heard by the Gods in Valhalla. She hovered by the side of the water as her gaze swept over Eivor’s broad shoulders, delighting in the chance to simply look at the other woman.

“They are happy you have returned…as am I.” Eivor glanced over her shoulder as Randvi stared down at her hands as a gentle blush settled on her cheeks.

“Did you…” _worry for me? Miss me?_

A scoff of disbelief answered her. “Yes. Every minute, every second.” A weight she had carried across the seas eased from her shoulders at Randvi’s words and she didn’t resist the smile that tugged at her lips. Randvi had missed her, despite the cruelty they had suffered, despite the harshness of words that needed to be said, Randvi had missed her.

Yet as she looked at the other woman, all she could think of was that awful night.

“I would like to hear everything about your journey to Vinland when you have the time.” 

“It was…quiet…peaceful…” It was so much more than that but she had accepted that she would never be able to describe it, not to those who had not seen its shores with their own eyes. She drifted into silence, oblivious to the way Randvi looked at her.

The woman tore her gaze away from the Drengr at her side to glanced down at her own reflection; there were things that needed to be said now. “Eivor. I want you to know that Sigurd and I are…” Eivor looked to her with concern clouding her gaze.

“We are severing the bonds of our marriage.” Ice blue eyes widened in surprise as Randvi let out a heavy sigh; it felt good to say the words out loud instead of repeating them in her head. She kept her eyes fixed to the water as she pressed on.

“We share a love that is steadfast and I have faith it will forever be so. But it is not the love of a wife and her husband. It was not an easy decision, but after we spoke with honesty, we embraced more warmly than we have in a great while.” The days following their decision had been spent in each other’s company, reconnecting and mending old wounds caused by their mutual faults. It had been painful but necessary.

“That…that must have been painful. I am sorry Randvi.”

Randvi shook her head sadly as she looked to Eivor who refused to meet her eyes.

_What was painful was watching you walk away…_

“Thank you Eivor. I believe we will be happy.”

“I hope so, I am pleased for you.” The words tasted strange on her lips; the final boundary between them had been removed with a simple conversation but Eivor felt uneasy. She had endured months of pain for the sake of her brother, for the sake of duty and she feared no amount of honeyed words could erase the hurt that had followed her across the seas.

She tried to ignore the warm feeling of Randvi’s body beside her as she waited for her to continue.

“I am pleased for myself. Sigurd’s desires are bigger than any man or woman can offer.” She did not wish to speak of his desires, not when the object of hers was so reluctant to look at her.

“He longs for something more, something only he can find.” For her brother’s sake, Eivor prayed that he would find whatever it was he was looking for.

“What about you? What are you looking for?” She would not hope for an answer that included her. She would not allow herself to feel that glimmer of hope she had managed to suppress for months. Not after what had been said and done. She would not.

Randvi closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “You, Eivor. Only you.” Randvi’s voice rang clear as she stepped away to stare at the settlement that spread open to her. She should have said these words sooner. She should have told Eivor how much she meant to her sooner, how much her heart had ached for her since the moment she left her side. If she had, perhaps she wouldn’t be so terrified that Eivor was lost to her in a place that she could never reach.

“Your forgiveness, your trust…your love…” Each word felt like a blow from her father’s axe and left Eivor reeling, staggering under the reality she had dared not imagine.

“I…I know I have no right…not after what I said…but I need you to know that I…”

_Care for you_

_Miss you_

_Love you_

She gripped her forearms in desperation as the words she _needed_ to say lodged in her throat.

“Eivor I lo–”

“There were fireflies.” Eivor’s voice was strained as she watched golden lights appear through the darkness, holding her attention captive as her mind drifted. “In Vinland. Hundreds of tiny lights hanging in the sky…beautiful. I have never known peace like I did surrounded by those lights…not since…since…”

Randvi turned as a dull ache began to spread through her chest as Eivor broke of her sentence with a weak sigh.

_I am losing you…aren’t I?_

“Not since I held you in my arms.”

“Eivor…” She couldn’t breathe, not when the words she had longed to hear were spoken with such pain and hopelessness.

_I did this…let me fix it…please_

“I felt a connection to Vinland; a strange feeling I do not understand. I wanted to stay, to understand but I could not…”

“Why didn’t you stay?” As much as it would have killed her to accept, she would have understood Eivor’s decision. 

“You, Randvi. No matter how far I travelled it was your voice that called to me, called me home.”

Eivor looked up as she felt hesitant fingers run across her cheek and across her lips, her eyes briefly closing as she leaned into Randvi’s warmth for a moment before pulling away.

“Eivor…I hurt you…I was cruel and scared and I …I am so sorry my love- “

“No…” She pushed herself away and glared at the waterfall as her heartbeat wildly in her chest. She had forced herself to accept that she would never hear such words from Randvi again. She had made her peace with Randvi’s decision but now she tempted her with words of love she no longer knew how to hear.

“Do not speak of love if you do not mean it... _please…”_ She was a warrior; she embraced the pain of battle, looked for it the moment she stepped onto the battlefield. There was pain enough in battle, she would not seek it in love.

“I meant it, every word Eivor. My heart is yours; it has always been yours and will be yours for however long you wish to keep it.”

This agony was too much to bear for one who had already endured so much suffering and heartbreak. She wished more than anything that she could embrace the woman before her but she couldn’t. Not until the sting of her words lessoned.

“Randvi…I…I wish I could indulge this feeling further…more than anything but…it is not possible…not right now…please understand…”

_Not until I have made peace with all that has happened…_

“I know Eivor…”

_A passion rekindled in haste will turn to embers…_

Randvi had known from the moment those fateful words left her lips that earning Eivor’s love and forgiveness would be a task worthy of the Gods; a task she was more than willing to complete.

“I will earn back your trust Eivor.” The drengr looked up with fearful eyes as Randvi knelt before her and cupped her cheek gently.

_I should never have taken you for granted…_

“And if I am blessed to receive your love, I will not forsake it again. I swear it.”


	16. Glowecestrescire

“Randvi, may we speak?” The question came from beyond the darkness and caught Randvi off guard, her eyes staring into the abyss as she waited for whoever had spoken to step into the candlelight. She spotted a figure hovering in the archway which was quickly illuminated by the candlelight as he stepped forward.

“Forgive me, we spend so much of our lives in the shadows it has become a habit.” Basim muttered as he approached Randvi with hand to heart. The woman smiled tightly before placing her papers aside and rising to greet him. She was surprised to see him, ever since news of her and Sigurd’s decision to end their marriage had made its way through the camp, the Hidden One had been mostly absent from the Longhouse, keeping his distance and watching the comings and goings of the clan with a guarded expression and darkened eyes. When she had asked Sigurd he had simply shrugged, remarking that his opinions were of no concern to them and that all that mattered was that they themselves were happy.

“Basim. The hour is late is it not?” The Longhouse had been crowded only a few hours ago but now those crowds had dissipated, leaving behind a stillness that Randvi had come to appreciate; a stillness that was now broken by the arrival of one she did not fully trust.

“I beg your indulgence Jarlskona.” Eyes that had regarded him with caution now darkened in suspicion; if he wished to discuss crazed delusions and visions of grandeur he should seek out Sigurd for she was not concerned with anything but the safety of her people. Still, she could not turn him away, not when he had come to her above all others.

“What troubles you? Has something happened?”

He did not look to be a man burdened by bad news but she had never been able to read his expressions; it seemed only Sigurd possessed that skill. She waited with mounting frustration as his fingers glided over the Alliance Map before picking up a raven and examining it closely.

“May I speak plainly?”

_I would appreciate if you would simply speak…_

“You may.”

Her permission did nothing to hurry the words from his lip and she could only wait impatiently for him to say what he needed to be said. She had given up all hope of him speaking when he, at last, turned to her.

“It is regretful that Sigurd and yourself have ended your marriage. It is a great sadness to many.” She frowned in confusion; those who had heard had been kind, sympathetic and relieved for them both - she had not encountered anyone who was saddened by the news.

“Sigurd I am sure regrets it also, is there no chance of reconciliation?” Her hands clenched into tight fists as he fixed her with a stare that spoke of carefully disguised dishonesty and coercion. She did not know why he was fixated on her marriage but she would see this discussion end. Now.

“No. Sigurd and I have made our peace with the paths we walk.”

“But did you not make a vow to honour him? To support his endeavours, his visions- “

“He also made vows Basim; to honour me, to respect me, to love me. We have both failed in our duties and I shall say no more on the matter.”

Her icy tone forced a sigh of contrition from his lips. He had not wished to offend, he merely wished to see if there was any chance of a reconciliation that would reunite them. He knew now in the face of her silent anger that such possibilities were beyond them now.

_A pity…but not all is lost…_

“Forgive me, I meant no disrespect.” She was too tired to argue the matter any further. With a grace borne from years spent studying diplomacy, she leaned against the table and considered his point of view; surely theirs was not the only culture to allow mutual separation?

“Our ways must seem strange to you.”

“Indeed, our cultures have many similarities but it is our differences that unite us. Forgive my words Randvi, I merely wished to …understand.” What was to be understood? Surely he had seen for himself how Sigurd’s desires were fixed on things only he could see rather than that of his wife. It should not have been a surprise that she could only take so much, that their marriage could only endure so much.

“I believe Sigurd will find happiness for himself when the time comes.”

“And you Randvi? Will you now look to your own happiness?” Her eyes flickered unconsciously to the darkened archway of Eivor’s chambers; she had already found her happiness, she only prayed she had not foolishly thrown it away. So lost in her own thoughts, she failed to notice the cloud that passed over his dark eyes or the way his bottom lip curled in annoyance.

_Perhaps you already have…_

“I would urge caution Randvi, tempers that simmer under the surface of those closest may yet make themselves known…” He turned away to inspect a series of letters with a look that made the hair on Randvi’s neck stand on end.

_You speak as though you know everything there is to know about us…about her…_

Her response was interrupted by the sound of hurried steps and they both turned to face the archway as Eivor appeared with rain-soaked leathers clinging to her frame.

“Randvi…Basim… Is something wrong?” Water dripped from her clothes and splashed against the wooden floor as she moved into the room, her hand subconsciously falling to the hilt of the dagger she wore at her side as she fixed them both with a concerned look.

Randvi was quick to reassure the Drengr, knowing that beneath her cool expression was a silent terror. “No Eivor, Basim was simply sharing his thoughts on …a personal matter.” Blue eyes narrowed at the man who stared back unflinchingly; she did not know what the make of the man but as her eyes flickered to Randvi, she knew that neither of them would ever fully trust him.

“A personal matter that could not wait until the sun has risen?” Her grip on the hilt of the dagger tightened as he laughed at her words.

“It can indeed. You are very wise Wolf-Kissed. Goodnight Randvi.” Eivor waited until the man had disappeared beyond her sight before turning to the other woman.

“Did he offend you?”

She smiled at the fierceness in her love’s voice. There was once a time when Sigurd had spoken in a similar tone but it had made her resent him and the implication that she was something to be owned. Now it made her feel safe, treasured, loved.

_I wonder if you know the effect you have on me…_

“Randvi?”

“No…he merely spoke of things he did not understand. But you, Eivor, you are soaking the wood that you stand upon. Are you well?” Emerald eyes swept over the woman she adored with a sense of urgency, searching for any signs of injury or distress that would have caused her to stalk the settlement in the middle of a thunderstorm. Seeing nothing, she moved to stand beside her and brushed aside the raindrops that clung stubbornly to her shoulders.

“Has something happened?”

Eivor shook her head; nothing had happened she had simply been unable to sleep. She had lain awake for hours as she thought on the words whispered by the waterfall and how wanted they had made her feel in that moment.

_I will earn back your trust Eivor._

The words had taken her by surprise and left her stunned; she had never considered her trust to be anything worth earning. When visiting dignitaries had come to Fornburg it was Styrbjorn’s trust they had wanted and then in England, it was Sigurd’s. Those who expressed an interest in her specifically were more concerned with her military prowess, her strength and subtlety than her ability to be trustworthy – such was the nature of the world.

Eventually, her thoughts had driven her from the warmth of her bed into the coldness of the rain where she had remained for the past hour, trying to reconcile herself with feelings she had never thought she would experience.

“No…I merely wished to take in the rain.”

“You wish to spend further days slumped in Valka’s hut with a fever?” Eivor grimaced at the memory of the hardened floor as Randvi looked away in embarrassment; coming across Eivor’s unconscious form had terrified her and was not something she ever wished to see again.

“Not at all, but it is so rare to see rain in this land.” Randvi rolled her eyes at Eivor’s attempt at humour. “I expected to return to silence and yet here you are working late into the night. Does something worry you?”

Many things worried Randvi; she worried for the settlement’s safety, their standing in England, the influence of the Order of the Ancients but above all else, she worried for Eivor.

“There is work to be done. There always is.”

“True, but these matters that plague you will wait until the morning. You should rest.”

A heaviness she had ignored all evening made its presence known as Randvi stifled a yawn. She had been unable to rest since Snotinghamscire, not fully. Her dreams had continued to torment with images of the two of them together; of days spent side by side and nights spent in each other’s embraces. Such images left her longing for a time when she had been happy.

“I should…so should you, my love…” A shaky breath from the Drengr’s lips lit a spark in Randvi’s heart; a spark that was extinguished in an instant when Randvi saw the fear in Eivor’s eyes.

_A fear I placed there…_

“Randvi…”

“Forgive me…I did not mean to make you uncomfortable…”

The last thing she wanted was to push Eivor before she was ready, to scare her with words she feared were now tainted. She loved Eivor, would always love her and if she had to wait an eternity, if that would earn her the right to call Eivor hers once again then she would do so, gladly.

Still, to see Eivor withdraw from her was incredibly painful.

A tentative hand brushing against her cheek brought her back from her thoughts and left her trembling as Eivor stepped closer.

“You didn’t…it’s just you …you…”

_You have said these words before …_

Eivor broke off her sentence with a heavy sigh; she wanted so badly to forget what had happened, to put words spoken behind them and cling to Randvi as if she would disappear but she couldn’t, not yet.

Randvi stepped away as Eivor’s hand dropped to her side. “I understand.” She did, of course, she did. How could she not understand that the woman she loved needed time to forgive her?

“I will be here Eivor, whenever you are ready.” A final look of acceptance passed between them before Randvi slipped from Eivor’s grasp and disappeared into her chambers without a backwards glance. Eivor could do nothing but watch her leave as the ache in her chest magnified.

_Would you wait a lifetime I wonder…?_

\--

“I can sharpen that blade of yours if you like?”

Eivor looked up from her position by the docs to look back towards the forge, the frown she had worn all morning deepening at the unexpected sight before her.

“Where is Gunnar?” She holstered her axe and strolled with a sense of purpose towards the woman fanning the forge’s flames. “It is unsettling to see his forge manned by a stranger…” The woman stared back at her with a penetrating glare which had Eivor flinching in embarrassment. She regretted her sharp tone the moment the words escaped her lips but she was tired, restless.

“Rima. My name is Rima. There, now we are not strangers.” She held out her hand which Eivor took, smiling politely as Rima’s gaze lingered on her axe.

“Well met, but you have not answered my question. Is Gunnar about or…” Rima shook her head before reaching over the bench to grip the edge of Eivor’s axe, pulling it free and placing it before her.

“T'is well made.” Critical eyes studied the weapons’ design and shape. “Could be sharper though –”

“You may sharpen it if you answer my question.” Rima’s eyes lit up at the thought of being able to work with such a fine weapon and she immediately began telling Eivor of how Gunnar had left his beloved forge in her hands whilst he attended to urgent business. When Eivor enquired further about the nature of this business, Rima simply shrugged before cradling her weapon and disappearing into the hut.

“I will come for my axe soon.”

_I should speak with Randvi, see if she knows where our blacksmith has fled to…_

The short distance to the Longhouse passed in a blur as her thoughts remained fixed on Gunnar’s whereabouts and the axe now held hostage and soon she stood anxiously in the archway. Randvi glanced up from her to-do list which had seemed to grow overnight and beckoned for Eivor to join her with a soft smile.

“Good morning Eivor, did you sleep well?” The Drengr had not but she would keep that knowledge to herself if only to save Randvi from worrying over her.

“I did, and you?” She tried to ignore the dark circles under Randvi’s eyes and the way her shoulders drooped under an imaginary weight; knowing that her behaviour was likely the cause of the woman’s sleepless nights.

“Fine, although I assume you have not come here to ask about my sleeping habits.”

Eivor would happily spend the remainder of her days asking how Randvi slept, how her day had been, whether she was happy, but for now… “Ah not exactly. Have you seen Gunnar?”

A smirk appeared on Randvi’s face as she noticed for the first time the missing axe.

_No wonder you seem agitated…_

“You have met Rima I take it?”

“She has taken my axe…” Laughter burst from Randvi’s lungs as Eivor scowled down at the map; she missed her axe. Her laughter died away at the pout adorning Eivor’s lips, replaced with an intense desire to take the woman in her arms and kiss her desperately.

_Soon…by all the gods I swear it…_

“You will hold it again Wolf-Kissed. As for Gunnar, he has travelled to Glowecestrescire in search of a wife.” Eivor tried not to roll her eyes; when _wasn’t_ Gunnar looking for a wife.

“A wife?”

“He is in love.” This time Eivor did not attempt to hide her smirk. Gunnar was always in love; with women, with minerals; with ale – there was always something that held Gunnar’s affections.

“When did this happen?”

“When doesn’t this happen with our poor, lovelorn blacksmith. But there is a bright side. He has asked you to join him.” The Drengr frowned as she studied the map in front of her. Glowecestrescire would not be difficult to travel to; she could either sail along the Thames River or ride by horse across the countryside but it was not a region she had intended to visit, not yet anyway.

“Join his search for a wife?” Both women shared a hesitant look at her words before Eivor looked away as a blush settled across her cheeks. Despite everything that had happened she could only ever imagine marrying the woman who stood before her.

_Soon…by all the gods I swear it…_

“And see that he does not make a fool of himself. I believe he thinks that your presence would bolster his image.” Calloused fingers rubbed across the bridge of her nose.

_Bolster his image…does he not remember the chicken incident?_

“All right. I will be Gunnar’s keeper. If only to bring him back in one piece.” Of course she would go; Gunnar had been the one constant presence throughout her life apart from Sigurd - if travelling to Glowecestre was what he desired then she would gladly make the trek.

The thought of Eivor once against straying from her side did not sit well with Randvi but at least this time she was not sending her into a battle; at least this time she would be safe. “Very generous of you. Make for the town of Glowecestre. You will find him there.”

“I will leave at once, with my axe.” She grinned as Randvi laughed softly; it was a sound she had heard so rarely since they had arrived in England.

“Farewell Randvi.”

_Please do not worry for me, I will return soon…_

“Be safe Eivor.”

_Return to me soon, my love…_

\--

“Had I known you would dress me up in a cloak and bones I would have ignored your request for my help.” Her words were muffled behind the mask but Gunnar heard them as clear as a bell. The pair of ravens strolled through the dark roads of Glowecestre, jumping out at children and munching happily on honeyed cakes as they partook in the peculiar festivities of this Saxon festival.

“I do not remember you being so wooden Eivor.” If the eyes holes in this mask were not so terrible he would have seen her glare of annoyance. She was not wooden; she was a battle-hardened warrior who had pacified the lands of England. She did not need a mask to be terrifying.

“You have become pensive in your old age Wolf-Kissed. I remember a time when you were carefree.” She did not believe such a word had ever been used to describe her; reckless, obsessed, maybe even foolish but never carefree.

“I am not old.” His laugh drew the attention of several Saxons who viewed them with suspicion but he was too happy to pay them any mind. His days now seemed fuller, the air clearer, his heart lighter - all thanks to Brigid.

She wiped her hands against the old cloak as the taste of honey began to fade from her lips. “Tell me about Brigid, Gunnar. I have never seen your smile so wide.”

“Ahhh Brigid, my own hearts root.” There was that smile again, so bright it outshone the sun and filled Eivor’s heart with warmth; he deserved to be happy, they all did.

“My heart sings for her Eivor. She outshines all the stars in the sky and breathes life into these old bones. I never thought I could feel such happiness in this life. Perhaps you too will experience this one day.”

Eivor smiled indulgently as her eyes flickered to the setting sun; she already had experienced all of those things and more. Randvi not only outshone the sun she eclipsed the moon.

“I am happy for you Gunnar. She must be a fine woman to put up with you.” She quickly took a step back as Gunnar playfully swiped at her shoulder. “She will be a welcome addition to our clan.”

“Thank you Eivor. Your approval means a lot to me.” It really did for when he looked at Eivor, he saw Varin. The woman patted Gunnar’s shoulder affectionately as tears appeared in his eyes; despite his gruff exterior, he was the most emotional man she had ever known.

“Come Gunnar, there is more hoodening to be done.”

They strolled between rows of huts built into the ground until they arrived at the centre of Glowecestre. Lanterns carved from turnips and illuminated with candles decorated the paths leading towards the centre of the square.

“You go on Eivor, I will wait for my lady love.” Before she could protest he had disappeared through the crowd, leaving her to make her way towards the towering longhouse alone.

Her eyes grew wide as she took in the sight of homes dug into hills and lanterns decorating archways; this was an impressive settlement despite the undertone of hostility towards herself and Gunnar.

_Hostility as constant as the sun in the sky…maybe one day we will be able to walk together as friends, or perhaps their judgements will be easier to bear…_

“Eivor! Over here!”

Her eyes scanned the crowds of drunken Saxons until she spotted the man she had saved from wild boars earlier that day clinging to the edge of an ale barrel.

“Well met Tewdwr.” His eyes still held an element of distrust but she was pleased to see that he at least seemed to be in a civil mood. He pointed to the ale barrel and waited for Eivor to plunge her drinking horn into its depths.

“Good day all.” Gwilim, a monk with a shady past appeared at their side with rosy cheeks and ale on his breath – hardly a fitting image for a man of the cloth. As the two men discussed matters that were of no importance to the Vikingr, she allowed herself to take in the sights and sounds of this Saxon festival.

“A contest then, Eivor will you partake?” Her eyes snapped back to the drunken men who looked at her with high expectations.

“By the Gods yes.” It had been too long since she had tasted ale and mead. They filled their horns and raised them in a toast to newfound friends.

_I should keep my head amongst these Saxons…_

“To holy hearths and humid eyes. Skal!”

\--

When Eivor opened her eyes the following morning, she thought she had awoken in Helheim.

_Gods…what happened last night…_

She rolled onto her back and groaned as sunlight filtered through the cracks of the house and landed on her face. The evening was a drunken blur; images of ale, mud and farm animals assaulted her as her stomach rolled like the ocean waves.

_Chickens…always the damn chickens…_

Shaking palms pressed tightly against her eyes until stars burst in her darkened vision. She had met Tewdwr for a friendly drink to seal their bonds of friendship, then they had left the square to find more ale but after that…darkness.

She pulled her hands away and froze at the sight of crimson blood staining her fingers.

_What…gahh the effects of that draught still cling…_

Pushing herself away from the fur bed she stumbled towards the far side of the room as she tried to recall what had happened. Blood on her hands suggested a fight; did she win? She had not woken in Valhalla so she assumed so…

_Who did I…oh…_

A Saxon soldier lay dead before her with eyes wide and colourless.

“Tewdwr? Are you here?” This was the new ealdorman’s house, she remembered him falling through the door after taking 5 minutes to unlock it. But he was not here…

She crouched by the soldiers’ side, recognition slowly registering in her ale muddled mind as she gazed upon his bloodied face.

_Tewdwr’s bodyguard…killed by a knife…_

She felt a sliver of relief in her breast; she did not carry a knife but that did not mean she could not find one if the need arose. She placed her hand on his chest and said a silent prayer before her eyes landed on broken pots and a smashed table.

_This pot has been broken and is covered in blood. A weapon maybe… and there is blood over there…could be Tewdwr’s …_

Her hand gripped the edge of the table as a wave of nausea left her breathless and weak; whatever she had drunk last night had been powerful.

_Think Eivor…what does this lead to…_

She glanced around the room as she waited for her vision to clear. She spotted Gwilim’s pouch from the night before buried between three pots and made a promise to retrieve it, once her legs had stopped shaking.

_The murderers hid there, lying in wait while we approached outside…they jumped from the shadows to kill the bodyguards…and to disable Tewdwr …then they dragged him away…that accounts for everything… except Gwilim’s pouch of herbs… I am still unbalanced by Gwilim’s concoction…_

She could barely move; her vision was failing; her limbs were as heavy as oak – she was in no condition to put up a fight if the assailants returned. She needed to leave. Now.

Gritting her teeth she launched herself towards the door and gripped the handle tightly, slowly opening it and stepping into the sun.

“There she is!”

“Lower your voice…” Her head was splitting and she was one second away from killing the man who had spoken.

“What is the meaning of this? Blood soaking our soil, and your weapons coated in the same?” She had not thought it possible for such a stern voice to come from the soft mannered Ealdorman and yet here he stood, foaming at the mouth.

“Cynon, please, more has happened here than you can see. Give me a right to parley my innocence.” She knew in her bones that she was not responsible for this bloodshed, but as she stared into the distrustful eyes of Saxon soldiers, she knew she would get no justice here.

“I should have headed Tewdwr’s misgivings about heathen party guests. And now he has paid with his life. With Tewdwr gone, Glowecestre will be without an ealdorman. Eye of an eye, your Raven Clan will lose their chieftain.”

_I am not the Jarl…why is this fact continually overlooked…_

“Get the murderer!” She gripped her axe tightly as four soldiers…no… _two_ soldiers approached with weapons raised and adrenaline thrumming through their veins.

_I had hoped to avoid bloodshed but it seems I have no choice…accused of murder and now about to commit it…I hope word of this does not reach Randvi before I can explain…_

\--

“Accused of murder!?” Randvi’s horrified voice echoed through the Longhouse as Sunniva gripped the letter she had received tightly; she really had not wanted to deliver this news.

“Of the new Ealdorman it seems.”

“By the Gods!” Hands shaking with concern and rage ran through reddened hair as her mind conjured up horrifying images of Eivor being arrested and put to death.

“What. Happened.”

“Gunnar does not say –” The letter was snatched from her hands as Randvi scanned the words frantically.

_Accused of murder…blood but no body…Eivor laying low…clearly a misunderstanding…not to worry…_

“Not to worry…all I do is worry it seems.” She did not realise she had spoken those words out loud until Sunniva appeared in her line of vision with a soft smile on her face and a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Eivor will return to us in one piece.”

_Gods I hope so…_

Heavy footsteps resonating against the wooden floor made them turn to the archway with barely concealed hope in their faces; hopes that faded into frustration as Sigurd and Basim approached.

The Jarl took in their downtrodden expressions and frowned. “What is it? What has happened to cause such despair?” The two women exchanged a look of unease before Randvi handed over the scribbled note, her gaze flickering between Sunniva and her ex-husband as his expression grew darker.

“Eivor…you muck-minded fool!” Randvi’s hands clenched as her husband once again assumed the worst; Eivor did not do this, she would _never_ do this. Basim approached Sigurd and read the note over his shoulder before turning to the room.

“Her temper is well documented –”

“Eivor did not kill anyone!” How could either of these men believe Eivor was capable of this crime?

“Can you be sure? Sigurd, perhaps we should intervene –”

“Have a care Basim…” She would allow this man to intervene over her dead body; Eivor needed someone to defend her not cast her to the wolves.

“Hush!” Sigurd crumpled Gunnar’s note into a ball and threw it towards the table.

“Randvi is right, Basim. Eivor’s temper may run hot but her actions are always justified. I will not step in unless a formal grievance is raised against her. Randvi, send your scouts to Glowecestrescire.” He stormed from the room with worry spreading through his mind; if she was guilty he did not know if he could protect her and if she was innocent, he did not know if she would forgive him for doubting her.

“Sunniva could you...” The woman nodded as Randvi sent her from the room with a grateful smile, pausing to glare at Basim who had the decency to look ashamed.

“Randvi, I meant no offence by my words. I simply wished to state the facts as they appeared to me—”

“You do not know Eivor as we do, as _I_ do. She killed no-one.” She could not bear to be in his presence any longer. Basim let her leave unhindered, waiting until he was alone before reaching for the crumpled paper and unfurling it.

_I know Eivor better than most…more than anyone in this realm…_

\--

_A tale of Glowecestre. A beautiful land... full of damned fools…_

Eivor still felt the prickle of unease at the base of her spine as she moved uncloaked through the bustling streets towards the towering figure of the Wicker-Man. A giant straw man which would soon burn brightly and carry the ealdorman to his God; she had seen stranger things.

“Eivor! I wondered if I would ever see you again.”

She smiled with relief as Gunnar hobbled towards her with one hand clenched around the handle of a Dane axe and the other draped around Brigid’s shoulders. She had thought of the man often as she silently crept through the shire like a demon, wishing more than anything that he was by her side.

“Gunnar! It is good to see a face I trust, even your frightful mug.” They clasped hands tightly and Eivor allowed Gunnar to scrutinise her appearance with the eyes of a man who had spent many winters doing nothing but that.

“Are you well Wolf-Kissed? No further accusations of murder to your name?”

She smiled tightly. “None, but the day is young and this shire is full of damned Saxons eager to place unfair blame at my feet.” Neither he nor Brigid could argue with her assessment of this shire. Gunnar grinned as he pointed to the display upon the hill.

“A curious sight no?” Curious, yes. Impressive, even more so; the Wicker Man stood proudly over the shire had earnt more of her admiration and respect than those who had constructed it. 

“Is Cynon here? I should pay my final respects.” She wanted to strike him down herself for using her as a pawn in his misguided games but she would not for Gunnar’s sake; he had asked her to come here in the hopes of bolstering his image and to kill the ealdorman before his scheduled demise would likely have the opposite effect. Besides his actions, no matter how bizarre, had been done in the hopes of protecting his people – she could not begrudge him that.

“Over there.” Brigid tapped Gunnar on the shoulder and before Eivor could protest they had disappeared within the sea of people with a hurried goodbye on their lips. She did not mind; she had grown used to her own company over the last few weeks.

She hovered on the edge of the crowds as Mordron and Cynon said their final farewells, not wishing to intrude on the man’s final moments on this earth. She watched as the thorned crown was passed from the old Ealdorman to the new with a reserved smile; she prayed Tewdwr understood the risks of his new position.

“This is your path, Tewdwr. No thorns or briars could keep you from it.”

“And you Eivor, friend of Glowecestrescire. You have lived up to your reputation.”

_I will gladly be your friend Tewdwr, but I will not be a friend to Glowecestrescire…_

She stood silently as Cynon disappeared within the confines of his wicker tomb before Tewdwr handed her a burning arrow. She accepted the honour presented to her with a cold heart.

_Straight to the mouths of hungry gods…_

As the flames licked at the wood and the man’s screams grew dimmer, she slipped from Tewdwr’s side and disappeared into the crowd; she had grown weary of this place.

“Gunnar! Our time here has come to an end and we have spent nought but a drink together.”

“Worry not Eivor. You and I have many takes to tell yet. And our names ring out clear and with honour.” She had no tales of honour for this place but she at least had been given the chance to see Gunnar away from his forge.

“Let us be on our way home. Randvi will be eager to meet Brigid.” The three bid their farewells to those around them and quickly headed to the stables and before long, they were travelling through the open countryside away from a shire which had embodied the worst qualities of England.

Their travels passed in relative silence until they crossed the boundaries of Oxenefordscire. Eivor rubbed the back of her neck as she adjusted her grip on the reigns. “It would have been easier to travel by boat Gunnar.”

“Maybe, but Brigid has lived by the water all her life. I wanted her to see the land, the trees.” Eivor, who had been about to grumble at the miles still left to travel softened at his words; it was so easy for her to grow weary of the fields and lands that she often forget that for some, these were considered to be rare sights.

“You are a romantic at heart Gunnar. I rarely see it behind your forge.”

Brigid spoke softly in response but Eivor could not make out the words and was forced to smile politely in the hopes that she had not been asked a question. She urged her horse into a quicker pace as familiar rivers and trees came into view.

“Anxious to return home Wolf-Kissed?”

“In a way. My time in Glowecestrescire was brief but eventful. Randvi will wish to hear of it but that is not a conversation I look forward to.” 

The blacksmith nodded solemnly as he and Brigid shared a look of concern. “I have already written of what transpired. She will be glad to see you returned safely.”

“You have?” She felt a coldness steal the warmth from her bones as she imagined Randvi learning of the accusations placed against her.

“Mhm. I told her not to worry though.”

The Drengr scoffed at his words; it would take more than soothing words to calm Randvi’s fears. “She worries, she always has.”

Gunnar spurned his mount faster and pulled up beside Eivor. “Ja, it is easy to worry for the ones we love.” Eivor pulled hard on the reigns as his words registered within her stunned mind.

_Gunnar…what do you know…_

The man took pity on the young woman he had known since her birth, reaching over to squeeze her hand gently as Brigid joined them with intrigue burning in her eyes.

“I…Gunnar …she –”

“Loves you, and you her.”

This was not how Eivor thought their journey home would go; she had foolishly assumed that any discussions would revolve around Gunnar’s love life, not her own. She stared in shock as Gunnar threw his head back and laughed at her horrified expression.

“Peace Eivor, let us rest a while and we can discuss the dark cloud that clings to you.” He and Brigid slipped from their horses without another word and guided them over to a clearing by a stream, pulling thick furs from their satchels and placing them on the grass. Eivor reluctantly joined them as dread rose in her breast; if she was to have this discussion she would rather it be with Randvi by her side; her love was a much better speaker than she.

“You look troubled Eivor.”

“I…I …” She did not know what to think. She had been careful with her affections or so she had thought and yet Dag had known, Gunnar had known…how many others had learnt and kept their secret?

Gunnar’s hand collided with her shoulder and snapped her out of her stupor. “I am unsure what you have heard or seen but…Randvi and I are not…we do not…” A single raised eyebrow from the closest thing she had left to a father silenced her attempts to cover up the truth. There was no point denying it any longer; not to him and not to herself.

“I love her Gunnar.” Her voice was soft, barely louder than a whisper. “For all the pain and turmoil it has brought me, I love her. Does this surprise you?” She refused to look away from the earth at her feet no matter how many minutes ticked by in silence and yet, had she looked up she would have seen a man beaming with pride.

“What surprises me is your sour look. You should be celebrating your love, not moping around like a child.” She resented the implication but lacked the will to fight against it. Maybe she was acting like a child, maybe she was clinging to ancient slights out of childish resentment for being picked second, to always coming second to Sigurd.

“How can I? She is my brother’s wife—”

“Previous wife, do not think I did not hear how they severed their union.” It had come as no surprise to him when news of the divorce had trickled through the camp. “The rope which restrained you has been severed has it not?”

“Yes but I…” A sigh of frustration slipped from her lips before she turned to face him fully; if this conversation was to take place in an unnamed field she would face it head-on. “Have you ever been hurt by one who swore they never would do so?” The eyes that stared up at him reminded him of a child and it was this image that rendered him stunned. Eivor had known physical pain and mental anguish but matters of the heart had always been foreign to her.

“The spoils of war and love are often one and the same. Pain caused by the hands of one we hold dear can be as agonising as an axe wound.” Understanding began to appear in Gunnar’s eyes as Eivor nodded in agreement; she was not reluctant to celebrate her love, she was afraid to acknowledge the pain associated with it. He shuffled forward and tilted her chin upwards with his hand.

“Has Randvi hurt you in some way?” It was well known amongst the clan that Gunnar looked at Eivor as he would his own child; with a fierce protectiveness that would rise in his chest at the very idea of her being hurt.

The Drengr nodded slowly as her eyes took on a faraway expression. “Yes… although I understand her reasons for doing so. The time was not right, I see that now but…”

“But understanding does not lessen the sting.”

“No…” She gripped the hilt of her axe tightly as she tried to ignore the tears prickling at her vision, hoping that Gunnar would say nothing further on this matter. Her tortured feelings were an unwelcome distraction but her burden to bear; she did not wish to sully Gunnar’s good mood with her melancholia.

The blacksmith silently regarded Eivor as the full weight of her despair revealed itself. “An axe wound heals best when the pain it causes is acknowledged. By acknowledging it, you can soothe it yes?” She nodded slowly and he smiled as the shine missing from her eyes slowly began to reappear.

“But do not dwell on that pain Eivor. Accept it and move forward, _always_ move forward. You understand?”

She hoped so, for all their sakes and yet…

“I am … afraid the wound will never fully heal. That the pain will blind me to any chance of happiness.” She desperately wanted to forget, to suppress the memories that prevented her from fully embracing Randvi’s love for her but it was fear that kept her from doing just that.

His hand patted his leg wrapped in bandages affectionately. “All wounds heal with time do they not?” His eyes flickered to Brigid who was happily skinning a rabbit she had caught for their supper, her frown of concentration sparking a sigh of contentment from the old blacksmith. “And as for pain, you need only find the right balm.”

\--

Eivor chuckled to herself as she watched Gunnar usher Brigid towards his forge with a look of apprehension which turned to pride as she inspected his hut with a discernible eye. As she lifted the lids of pots and tested the steadiness of the huts' walls, she turned to fix him with a stern look that melted into approval much to both Gunnar and Eivor’s relief; they both feared what tasks the woman would lay before them should she have been displeased with her new lodgings.

“You have finally found someone who will keep you in line Gunnar.”

“Is it not wonderful?” A sigh of happiness left his lips and warmed Eivor’s heart as she bid them a fond farewell.

“Remember what I said Eivor.” She nodded in thanks as he disappeared into his hut with Brigid in tow. His words had kept her warm as they travelled home and filled her with a sense of hope she had not felt in so long. 

Her steps quickened as the Longhouse came into view but she forced herself to keep her pace measured. She wanted to see Randvi; to speak plainly and honestly but she feared the response she would receive if she burst through the doors with reddened cheeks and oxygen-starved lungs. She wanted to reassure the woman, not terrify her.

She walked into the Longhouse with nervous anticipation in her heart. “Randvi?” Her voice was met with a silence that caused her brow to furrow and her weapon to become drawn as she moved through the stillness. Silence like this reminded her of Suthsexe; of darkened crypts and blood-soaked walls, of pain and loneliness.

“Randvi? Are you here?”

A shadow passing over the archway caught Eivor’s attention and the Drengr sighed in relief as Randvi appeared. “Eivor? Thank Tyr.”

She had only a moment to brace herself before Randvi had crossed the room and gripped her shoulders tightly, her eyes scanning her face for any signs of injury before she held the woman at arm’s length.

“Randvi are you well?” The woman stared unbelievingly before a sharp burst of laughter slipped from her lungs.

“Gods Eivor I thought we had lost you, for good this time.” The Drengr cringed as Randvi fixed her with a fiery gaze that spoke of sleepless nights and days gripped by worry. They had received no word from Gunnar save his initial letter and her scouts had been unable to learn anything – she had been left completely clueless to what was transpiring in Glowecestre and it had sickened her.

“What happened? We received word of the Ealdorman’s murder?”

Eivor shook her head as she hesitantly reached for Randvi’s hand. “I can hardly begin to describe what happened in Glowecestrescire. But I think you will learn soon enough.” Once Gunnar had a cask of ale before him it would not take long for tales of the Mari Lwyd and the Whicker Man to fall from his lips.

_If you mention singing Gunnar, I really will fill your shop with sheep…_

Randvi shook her head. “I would rather hear from you.” She _needed_ to hear the events that had transpired from Eivor. If she learnt that her love had been hurt or mistreated from anyone other than the woman before her she did not know how she would cope.

Her fingers interlocked with Eivor’s as she tugged her towards her chambers; this conversation deserved privacy. “Come Eivor…” She braced herself for Eivor to resist, to withdraw completely with downcast eyes and whispered apologies but to her immense relief, the Drengr followed her without complaint.

They sat heavily on the edge of her bed with looks that spoke of concern and relief passing between them.

“The previous Ealdorman arranged for the murder of his successor and used me as a pawn to detract from his own guilt.” Randvi gripped her hand tighter as a burning rage consumed her, a rage that only simmered when Eivor ran her thumb across her knuckles.

“They hoped a vengeful Dane would detract attention from themselves but their plan failed and the man lives, ruling Glowecestrescire with a Christian mind and a heart open to all faiths. He has pledged an oath to us and will come when we call.”

“So we are allied with them?”

“Yes, for all our pains.”

“And Gunnar? Is he well?” Randvi did not dare move as Eivor continued caressing the back of her hand, every swipe of her thumb against her skin sending a shiver down her spine.

“He is well, as is his bride to be. I have not seen him this happy since before we left Norway.”

Randvi smiled at the image of Gunnar content after so many unhappy winters but her smile was tempered with sadness; he was able to celebrate his love but she could only wait and pray that she would be given the same chance.

“I am glad. I look forward to meeting her.” She had so few opportunities to meet the people native to this land that she relished every opportunity presented to her. As her thoughts drifted to the upcoming wedding, she promised herself that Gunnar’s bride would receive the same warm welcome she herself had received so long ago.

The two sat side by side in silence for several long minutes, each lost in their own thoughts until Randvi felt the bed beside her dip. The warmth of Eivor’s hand slipped from her grasp and she struggled to hide her despair as she waited for Eivor to flee the room.

“Randvi?” She glanced up to see Eivor kneeling in front of her with her bottom lip tugged between her teeth and her gaze flickering around the room as she struggled with an unknown decision; Randvi thought she looked adorable in that moment.

“You remember what we spoke of? The night I returned from Vinland?” Eivor’s eyes were hopeful and eager as Gunnar’s voice rang in her ears; she had allowed words to torture her for long enough.

“Yes…” Randvi’s heart beat faster as she watched Eivor shift closer. She would not allow herself to feel hope as the woman took her hands gently and leaned forward.

“The time was not right for us…for me. Your words still pierced me like an arrow to the heart but…” Her eyes drifted to Randvi’s bottom lip which quivered silently; she did not wish to cause the woman further pain but these words needed to be said, needed to be acknowledged.

_Do not dwell on that pain Eivor…_

“…the pain I felt then does not compare to the pain I feel now --”

“You are in pain?” Emerald eyes laced with sorrow stared into ice-blue as she gripped the Drengr’s forearms tightly. If she was in pain she would do anything to soothe her wounds, be they caused by an axe or by her actions

The Drengr smiled adoringly as she brought Randvi’s hands to her lips, trailing kisses across her skin before uttering the words she had longed to say for so long.

“Every moment that you are not in my arms is painful Randvi.” She didn’t fight the hesitant smile that graced her features as Randvi whimpered at her words. As she felt the weight she had subconsciously carry lift from her shoulders she realised that Gunnar had been right; what good would it do to dwell on the pain of the past when her future sat before her? 

“Eivor…Gods Eivor I…” Her words melted into a relieved whimper as Eivor lunged forward to capture her lips in a desperate kiss. Her fingers slipped through auburn hair as Randvi pushed herself from the bed to kneel before Eivor, both of them clinging to each other tightly as tears slipped down flushed cheeks. The taste of salt on her lips forced Eivor to pull away and she frowned with worry as her thumb brushed away the stray tears that clung to Randvi’s cheeks.

“Randvi…have I misunderstood…” Had she forced Randvi to wait so long that her affections were no longer returned? The thought filled her with an ache she had prayed she would never feel again and she made to stand just as Randvi gripped the back of her neck tightly, forcing her to stay still.

“No… _Gods no_ but I…I feared you lost to me forever…” She had prayed to Freyja, to Odin, to every one of the Gods that she could reclaim that which she had cast aside but no matter how hard she tried, she had been unable to ignore the tiny part of her that had feared she was too late.

“No…I was hurt and it blinded me to…to everything that wasn’t that pain. I acted unfairly to you…” Eivor’s gaze dropped to the floor as she recalled how she had acted in those lonely weeks that had followed; how cold and detached she must have seemed.

“You acted as one hurt by someone who had promised never to do so. I am sorry Eivor, gods I am so sorry.”

Eivor brushed her lips against Randvi’s cheeks. “I know my love, as am I.”

_I am sorry I blamed you so strongly…I am sorry I did not see how much you were hurting also…_

“I have regretted those words for so long Eivor, to think that I hurt you so deeply tears me apart.” Her eyes fluttered shut as Eivor’s lips followed the line of her cheek before brushing against the corner of her mouth.

“Do not regret your words. Acknowledge them; give a voice to that pain so that the sting can lessen with time.”

The tip of her nose brushed against Randvi’s as they shared a smile that spoke of love reclaimed and trust renewed.

“I would like to try and lessen the pain that I caused you…if you will let me?”

“It could take a lifetime.”

Randvi accepted the task ahead of her eagerly; she had sworn to earn the love of this woman and she would not rest until she had erased her cruel words from both of their minds.

Her hands slipped under the collar of Eivor’s tunic to caress the warm skin beneath, her eyes darkening as Eivor leaned into her touch.

“Then let me start now.”

\--

Eivor groaned in dismay as Gunnar pulled the cloak of bones from his pack and threw it across the table at Vili. As promised, the Clan had thrown a feast to welcome their newest member and it had not taken long for Gunnar’s stories to trip from his tongue.

Villi chuckled at the poorly made costume before holding it at arm’s length. “Very nice, Pant-less!” She raised her horn in acknowledgement of the terrible nickname before turning to Winfrith.

“Do you have many sheep on your farm? I may have need of them!” She laughed at Gunnar’s horrified expression before forcing herself away from her seat to approach the barrel of ale. She stared into its depths for several long seconds before plunging her horn into the liquid and bringing it to her lips; no one here would dare taint her ale with sleeping herbs, of that she was certain.

“Eivor!” Sigurd’s voice cut through the din of celebration and she passed her horn to Tove before disappearing behind the wooden walls. Her brother had been suspiciously absent from the Longhouse since she had returned, and she had been meaning to find him except more pressing matters had presented themselves. She found her brother perched on the edge of the bed she and Randvi had occupied several hours before and the memory of the two of them entwined forced her to look away as fire spread across her cheeks.

“The time has come.” Sigurd announced as she stood before him. “Our time.”

“Our time for what?”

Sigurd smiled indulgingly at her answer; a sight that set her teeth on edge. “My final glory awaits.”

“Your final glory…I fear to ask what that means.” After months of listening to his delusions of grandeur, she suspected that whatever he had in mind would be ridiculous but not surprising.

_Thor lend me strength to endure these coming days…_

His temper stirred like a slumbering giant awoken by foolish questions. “Do I not speak plainly? My time in Midgard is done. I wish now to see the hall of my ancestors.”

She scoffed at his response before turning away. “If you wish to die, it will not be by my hand.”

“I do not speak of death, Eivor. I speak of life! Life and Glory everlasting!”

_Valhalla…you wish to reach Valhalla…_

“I know I have been in a fog these last few weeks. I know I speak words you do not fully understand. But I only as you trust me, once more. On my final voyage. Back to Norway, to wish my father farewell, and achieve my destiny.”

Norway. A land of ice and death, a place she had thought never to see again in this life. Why Sigurd wished to return was unclear to her but she knew she could not leave him to cross the frozen seas alone.

“Back to Norway? I need to discuss this with Randvi…” She did not wish to leave the woman behind so soon after rekindling their love but she feared she had no choice.

Sigurd smiled in acceptance before walking from the room. “If you must, I will await your answer by the docks but do not keep me waiting.” She knew that when Sigurd fixed his eyes on a location he was quick to arrive there; she would not be surprised if she spent the night aboard a longship swaddled in furs.

Her legs felt heavy as she approached the Alliance Table and stared down at the scrap of paper marked ‘Hordafylke’ in amusement.

_When did this appear…Sigurd must not have kept his intentions secret…_

“Is it true Eivor?” She did not turn as Randvi’s steps grew closer, nor did she move when strong arms slipped around her waist to hold her tightly. She sighed heavily as she leaned back into the older woman’s embrace with a darkness clouding her eyes as she looked to a future that now seemed a little less certain.

“It may be time to return to Norway.” Soft lips caressed the back of her neck as her voice became deeper. “Sigurd is eager to see his father and... and beyond that, I do not know.”

Warm lips were replaced with cool air as Randvi peered over Eivor’s shoulder to stare at the map. “I have heard ill news about Styrbjorn in the past year. If you go, go with care.” Eivor frowned as she thought of her adoptive father and how cold their farewell had been.

_Maybe time and distance will have cooled his temper…_

“I will inform Sigurd of my decision and pray to Thor for calm seas and cool heads.” If she was to spend weeks confined to a Longboat with her brother, she would need the latter more than the former.

“Good.” Eivor felt firm hands grip her shoulders tightly and she turned in Randvi’s embrace, smiling sadly as the scent of lavender surrounded her.

“Eivor…”

“I know my love, but he is my brother. I must be by his side, now more than ever.”

Randvi had long accepted that where Sigurd went Eivor would follow but that did not make the reality any easier to bear. Their eyes met for a few moments before they surged forward, hands clinging to each other desperately as lips moved insistently against one another. If this was to be their last moments together Randvi wished to commit every feeling, every sensation to memory. Only when her lungs began to burn and her grip became weaker did she pull away, her forehead resting against Eivor’s chin as they struggled to catch their breath.

“I have waited… _so long_ Eivor…”

These snatched moments of passion were cruelly unfair to them both. “I know my love…”

“I have waited long enough for you…and you for me…”

“A few weeks…that is all…we have endured so much more than a few weeks Randvi…” Fingers gently held Randvi’s chin and tilted her head upwards just enough for Eivor to lean close, her lips brushing against hers a final time.

“A few weeks…merely a blink of an eye…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're heading to Norway! I will likely split the next location into two parts but hopefully, they shouldn't take too long to post.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has commented and left Kudos - every comment makes me cry!


	17. Norway Part 1

Randvi crossed her arms as she studied the Alliance map before her, her eyes fixed on the remaining blank space that had taunted them since Eivor encountered Aelfred in Wincestre. She gripped the hilt of the silver dagger and wrenched it free from the torn and tattered parchment; she would soon have no need for this weapon once the final black raven was placed over Hamptunscire.

She looked over the borders of England with a satisfied smile which dimmed when her eyes landed on the scrap of paper which read ‘Norway’; years of battles waged and alliances forged had finally secured the safety of their clan for future generations, meaning that once she returned from Norway and Hampscire was allied with their clan, Eivor could finally enjoy the peace she had fought so hard to obtain.

_Soon you will be by my side once more my love and when you are, not even the All-Father will be able to call you away…_

She gripped the parchment and carefully raised it to the light, laughing in disbelief when she saw just how many stab wounds littered the fragile paper.

_Gods why did I allow you to use a dagger to mark your targets?_

She knew precisely why she had not intervened when Eivor had first plunged the blade into the parchment; the act had made the Drengr happy and she would have done anything to maintain that feeling, even at the expanse of her maps.

_This needs replacing…preferably before you and Sigurd return to us..._

It had been three days since she had bid a tearful farewell to the Jarl and his Drengr on the docks of Ravensthorpe, her eyes firmly locked onto the figure at the front of the longship with blonde hair dancing in the wind and face turned to the setting sun.

_Beautiful…_

The sight of Eivor standing proudly with her raiders had left Randvi breathless with admiration and adoration, but those feelings were quickly replaced with fear and longing as the Longship disappeared around the river bed and out of sight.

_Sigurd…I hope you find what you are looking for…_

She and a few others had remained at the river’s edge long into the evening until they too departed to their homes, leaving Randvi alone with her thoughts.

The sound of Mouse pacing back and forth pulled her from her memories. She kept still as she listened to the wolf whine before sympathy for the creature forced her from the chamber as her palms grew slick. She had promised Eivor that she would keep an eye on the wolf while she was away, a promise she had been reluctant to make seeing as she did not fully trust the animal; no matter how domesticated he seemed, he was _still_ a wolf.

“Hej Mouse.” The wolf looked up and fixed her with a penetrating glare, his eyes narrowing in suspicion until she knelt on the ground and held out a piece of cooked meat.

With this offering, the wolf’s demeanor changed from that of suspicion to adoration and he happily approached the nervous woman who forced herself not to flinch as sharp teeth grazed her fingertips. Once consumed he began sniffing around her feet for more, whining petulantly when he received nothing further.

_Scared of a wolf but in love with the Wolf-Kissed…the Gods would laugh at such things_

He returned to her side and sat patiently by her feet as she slowly ran her fingers through his downy fur and hesitantly scratching his ear much to the animal’s delight. Her eyes drifted to the empty chambers of her love; if Eivor were here she was sure the woman would be beaming with pride.

_But you are not here…you are far from my sight…_

An ache she had grown familiar with over the passing years gripped her heart as she imagined Eivor stood at the bow of her Longship, face turned into the wind as rain lashed against them without mercy. She hoped that wherever the woman was, she was safe and unafraid of what lay ahead.

She smiled down at Mouse as he slipped away to curl up on the edge of Eivor’s bed with a huff escaping his lungs.

“I miss her too.” Gods, did she miss her. She missed her with such an intensity that it left her blind to any other feeling, and dampening the joy she had found within the boundaries of this settlement.

Eivor had been away from her side before and for far longer than three days but this time felt different as if something far greater than any of them had been biding its time, waiting until the proper moment to make itself know.

_Gods…please do not let Sigurd’s delusions cause her to come to harm…_

She did not know what she would do if Eivor was to return injured in some way, especially if those injuries were caused in pursuit of Sigurd’s “destiny”. She raised her hand and massaged her temples as the headache she had been trying to ignore intensified; such thoughts had no place in her heart.

“Randvi?!” Hytham’s voice echoed through the hall and had Randvi sprinting towards the far archway in moments, her heart racing as she took in the man’s haggard appearance.

“Hytham? What is it?” His fingers reached out to clasp her wrist gently before he pulled her back towards the far chamber. He released her just as they passed through the archway and he turned to her with a sheepishness that was not often associated with the young man.

“Forgive me Randvi.” He bowed deeply before looking around the room in fascination, oblivious to the rising fear Randvi was struggling to suppress. “I did not wish to cause a panic.”

His words made her grip the table tightly as she braced herself to hear the worst.

_Please…please do not say something has happened…_

“Has Basim spoken to you lately?” Relief flooded through her at his question; if something had happened to Eivor or Sigurd he would have told her outright instead of asking about his mentor. 

“No, I have not seen him.”

“That is most odd. I was certain he would have approached you before leaving for Norway.”

“Norway?”

Why would he have a need to travel to Norway so soon after Eivor and Sigurd had left? Did he know something they did not?

Hytham shrugged; he too was at a loss. “He said he would be joining Sigurd but did not tell me why.”

“When did he leave?”

“He returned from his travels in the early morning and left a mere hour later. He plans to secure passage across the seas as soon as he is able.”

Her eyes drifted to the courtyard as she reflected on his words. Basim had fled with barely a moment's rest to travel across the open seas for reasons only known to him. There was no guarantee that he would even make it to Norway yet the dangers had not stopped him as it would have stopped so many others. She could not help but wonder why…

A hesitant hand at her shoulder drew a gentle smile from the woman. “Have no fear Randvi. Basim loves Sigurd and Eivor as if they were his own kin. His purpose for joining them will be admirable.”

_Eivor…I do not know why Basim crosses the seas to be by your side…but I pray his intentions are honorable…I pray you are safe…_

\--

“So strange…little has changed, but it feels…unfamiliar.” The biting winds of Harold Fairhair’s kingdom cut through Eivor’s armor and leather cloak with ease, leaving her shivering violently as she gripped the Longboats figurehead with frozen fingers. The warm climate of England with its rainy winters and blazing summers had stripped her of what resistance she had left to the frozen winters of her youth.

_England has taken much from us …from me…_

She looked towards the shores of Norway as she reflected on the words said between father and son in an alehouse, of all places.

She had hoped that their long voyage would cool the fires of Sigurd’s rage so that when they at last docked at Alrekstaf, his heart would be open to his father’s forgiveness but that had not been the case. Sigurd’s rage had only grown hotter the closer they came to the land which should have been his by right, fuelling his steps as he stormed towards the mead halls and clouding his judgment as he finally confronted the coward that was King Styrbjorn.

Eivor’s eyes rested heavily on the horizon as she recalled how Sigurd had looked upon his father with disgust, how Styrbjorn had tried to justify his decision to relinquish his crown by blaming an absent son until both were satisfied with the damage inflicted by harsh words and venomous looks.

She had been so swept up in her brother’s contempt for the man she had once held in the highest regards that she too had spoken harshly, calling his character into question as she vilified him for all he had failed to do.

_Did I speak too harshly…would I have said the same words if my own father stood before me…_

Whatever tendrils of regret she felt slipped from her mind as she recalled the coldness in the man’s eyes and the harshness to his voice as he turned his anger towards her.

_“I find it hard to believe you have a heart at all Eivor…ever reckless…ever foolish…always putting your own glory above the welfare of the clan…”_

His words had left her stunned; everything she had done had been for the benefit of her people and the glory of her king and yet he had dismissed her as a glory-hungry Drengr consumed only with her own legacy. She had never cared for his approval before, so why was she so heartbroken by his words now…

_Have I been so bad a daughter that the man who raised me could not spare a single kindness?_

“Do not dwell on the words of that pathetic worm Eivor, his mind is twisted with bitterness.” Her eyes drifted from snow-peaked mountains to her brother who stared back with a kindness she had sorely missed.

“To where do we sail?”

“There.” His arm pointed towards a distant shore which she could barely see. “I recognize those rocks.” Bragi gripped the tiller tightly and steered them onwards through the snowstorm. No songs were sung or tales shared as they ventured further into the mist, each man too distracted by the sense that they were sailing towards something far beyond their understanding.

The snowflakes which had swirled around them suddenly grew heavier and thicker, whipping against their faces and chilling them further.

“A white rage stands in our way!” Eivor feared her voice had been swallowed by the storm when Sigurd called for them to keep going. She gripped the collar of her cloak and pulled the hood over her face as she stared into the sea of white; if Bragi managed to dock the ship in this weather it would only be because the Gods had blessed their voyage.

“Do you know the way?”

“As I know my own mind!” How could he possibly know where to sail? They had grown up together, had explored as much of these frozen isles as they had dared and yet this landscape was as foreign to her as the lands of the far east. “We will cut through this winter sheet-like swords through straw, do not worry.”

She rolled her eyes in annoyance. All she had done since they had left England was worry; for her brother’s state of mind, for the safety of her raiders, for those left behind – all these fears weighed heavily upon her shoulders and again compelled her to speak into the wind.

“Sigurd! We should turn back!”

“No! We are so close Eivor, can you not hear them?”

She could hear nothing but the howling wilderness. “Who?”

“The Gods! My Ancestors!” She gripped the ship’s figurehead tighter as the water grew rougher; to die here beside a lonely fjord would make her the shame of her clan. A wry smile tugged at wind swept cheeks as she thought of Dag delighting in the news that she had been felled by a gust of wind.

_I wonder what you would make of this Dag… Would you still follow Sigurd blindly? Should I?_

The shoreline approached them quickly and she gripped the wood tighter. “Brace!” Her command was greeted with the sound of oars being dragged aboard before the ship dug into the ice-covered shoreline. Once she was sure the ship would not capsize she untangled herself from the ropes, and with a final farewell to Vili and Birna, she joined Sigurd to stand at the base of the mountain.

“The rest of you wait here.” A quick look over her shoulder revealed a ship beached by snow; her crew would need to dig their vessel out with whatever they had to hand. “Eivor and I will press on.”

Her hand raised against the swirling mist of white cleared her vision enough to reveal a cavern besides a frozen lake but it was a fair distance and in this harsh winter, she did not know if they could make it.

“Sigurd, can we not wait for this to pass?” Her brother was already several feet ahead of her but his voice rang clear as if spoken only a few inches from her ears.

“Ah the sting of ice on skin! Revel in this, Eivor. We walk the footpath of the gods!” She groaned as snow began to fill the spaces between her skin and armor; even the Gods would think twice before making this journey. They pressed on through the frozen landscape; their steps slowing as they sank deeper into the surrounding snowdrifts.

_I will follow you to the end brother…but if I freeze in this backwater I may never forgive you…_

“Could we not wait until this tempest quiets down?” She looked behind her to the ship filled with warmth and mead as the winds sent from Nifelheim stole the breath from her lungs.

“No! We must confront the omens and honor the gods!” Frozen corpses would make a poor offering to Odin but she lacked the energy to fight her brother further. Wiping the snow from her eyes, she forced herself to follow her brother’s footsteps up the curving mountain.

“I recognise these stones…Yes! We are close!”

_Thank Freyja, I do not think I can endure this frozen wasteland for much longer…_

She gritted her teeth and slowly uncurled her fingers, cringing as she felt a stabbing sensation across her frozen skin. To think she had once been comfortable amongst these ice lands.

“Will you not say where this leads?”

The frustration in his voice when he told her to be patient reminded Eivor of those initial days following Cent, when he had spoken of things only he could understand.

They sprinted the last few metres before collapsing against the cavern’s walls, hearts pounding and cheeks burning as they thanked Odin for this brief respite from the biting winds. Sigurd pointed to a sheet of ice which was quickly shattered by Eivor’s arrow, revealing a darkness which she feared they would soon explore.

They slipped deeper into the cave with hands outstretched against the encroaching darkness until a blue light ahead illuminated them; it was a cool yet oddly familiar light, one Eivor swore she had seen before but that was not possible. Her eyes grew wide as she paused ahead of a huge door adorned with familiar markings.

_Vinland…these markings were beneath the earth of Gorm’s camp…strange…_

“Stand clear.” Her eyes remained fixed on the space above the door which seemed to have once contained something of great importance but before she could inspect it further, the door opened and revealed an even more impressive sight, a sight surely not meant to be seen by mortal men.

“Sigurd…” Her words were quiet and hesitant as the platform they now stood upon began to move. Such things surely were not possible and yet…

_Perhaps you were right brother…_

“Trust this place, Eivor. This old and sacred place.” The platform juddered and Eivor gripped her axe tightly; she did not know where this place led to but she had given her word to follow her brother, no matter what path that took her down.

Images of Randvi clinging to her tightly in the early hours of the morning suddenly consumed her and she was forced to steady herself against the cavern walls.

_Come home to me Eivor…do not become lost in your brother’s destiny…Do not forsake your own for his…_

The words Randvi had whispered against her lips had taken up residence in her heart. No matter what she had promised Sigurd her oath to Randvi was ironclad; she would not die here.

“Where does this lead?”

“To the hall of the slain and the golden fields.”

Ice blue eyes widened as dread began to rise in her throat. He did not mean…surely he did not expect to find--

“Valhalla, Eivor. We will soon walk beside the All-Father.”

Doubt swept through her as she followed her brother deeper into the cavern; Valhalla was not a place to be found by venturing into the wild, it was a destination only the worthiest warriors would ever reach. Her brother was not making sense… perhaps the cold had made him mind sick…or…

“You doubt my words Eivor?” Sigurd did not sound angry as he spoke, merely curious.

“Your words brother…they do not… _I_ do not…” He raised his hand to silence her as she attempted to explain her reluctance; she had not been subjected to Fulke’s torment which had opened his eyes, so how could he expect her to grasp the truth he now offered? A stream of blue light which grew wider with every second landed on the siblings and raised a smile from the Jarl.

“Do you doubt your own eyes? There!” She turned and felt the air leave her lungs at the structure that lay before her. “The tree of life!”

Yggdrasil…the tree that nourished and provide for all the nine realms…the cornerstone of their way of life…she could not believe her eyes and yet it was right there…

“See how proudly she sits…how beautiful she gleams…”

No…no this wasn’t right…Yggdrasil was an ash tree, the largest in existence and yet this…structure appeared to be made of some form of iron…

_Have the skals been wrong all this time…?_

Her steps echoed against the cavern floor as she and Sigurd approached the metal tree until they stood in its impressive shadow.

“We should not be here…” Her voice was hesitant, almost fearful. This was not for them, it could not be for them and yet as Sigurd beckoned her towards the far end of the hall, she was struck with a feeling that this was exactly where they were meant to be.

“We are not the first it seems…” She followed Sigurd’s outstretched arm to stare disbelievingly at the prone form of Valka’s mother hanging from one of the metal branches.

_Svala? How did you come to be here?_

It was one thing for Sigurd and herself to reach this place through snow and ice, but Svala had been mind sick when she had last seen her. It was not possible for the woman to be here unless she did not make the trek alone but then where was her companion and why did they leave her here alone?

_Perhaps Valka brought her here.. that would explain how she knew so much about my visions…_

“…are you ready?” Sigurd’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts and left her sheepish; she had not heard a single word he had said and she suspected he knew that.

“Hmm? Ready for what?”

His hand was heavy on her shoulder but his smile was light and carefree. “Take your place at the centre and you will see.” She stood her ground as she viewed the hanging limbs of this metal trees with trepidation before she was shoved forward by her brother.

_I swore to follow you brother but I…I do not know if I can…_

“Sigurd!” Her voice broke as she watched her brother be lifted into the air before going deathly still; did he live…was he breathing…would the same fate befall her if she stepped closer?

_What truths will be revealed to me in this cavern of stone and troll magic…?_

Her hands shook as a metal arm drew closer, her heart beating wildly as she felt the floor begin to vibrate beneath her. Whatever she saw, whatever she experienced she prayed she would be able to endure.

“Hail you givers…a guest has come.”

_Odin protect me…_

She tried to show the same level of bravery that her brother had shown but there was no point denying that she was scared, terrified even. As the metal arm approached she found herself thinking of Hytham and his leaps of faith; perhaps that was what was needed now. She gritted her teeth to prevent the yelp of pain from leaving her lips as she felt sharp, needle-like arms lift her into the air, but she could do nothing to stop her screams as a bolt of lightning pierced her neck and traveled through her limbs, silencing her voice as darkness began to tinge the edges of her vision.

 _Randvi…forgive …me_

\--

The sound of Gunnar’s hammer striking steel filled the air as Randvi hovered by the water’s edge, casting anxious looks over her shoulder as she waited for the right moment to approach the man without raising suspicion. The man’s blows were precise as he worked to bend the glowing metal to his will, his discerning eyes scanning the blade for any sign of imperfections before he plunged it back into the flames. He waited impatiently for the steel to glow a burning red before he returned it to this anvil.

“Gunnar?” She was loathed to interrupt the craftsman but it had taken her all morning to work up the courage to make the short trek to his forge and she would not turn back now. 

The man grunted as the next blow of his hammer collided with the anvil instead of the metal and the woman was quick to apologise for distracting him.

“Ahh pay it no mind Randvi, these hands are old and unstable now.” She had never known a man with steadier hands but she appreciated his attempts to soothe her guilt.

“A sword? Who will wield it?” A lovelorn sigh slipped from the blacksmith’s lips as he carefully placed the sword into a barrel of sand to cool it enough for it to be engraved in the morning.

“My darling Brigid – this is my gift to her.”

_Ahh...that explains it…_

“A beautiful offering Gunnar.” From what little she had seen the sword would likely be the most beautiful weapon ever forged by the blacksmith. The man beamed with pride before looking around to ensure they would not be overheard before beckoning her closer.

“You have my thanks, but perhaps you have come to ask me to forge another…” Randvi’s cheeks burned bright with embarrassment as he laughed loudly. Now that Gunnar’s suspicions about her and Eivor had been confirmed the man had taken every opportunity to make veiled comments of marriage whenever he and Randvi were alone.

“I…not exactly, although I do have need of your exceptional skill.”

His lips curled into an eager grin; he was a proud man quietly confident in his abilities but even he was not immune to flattery. Randvi pulled the ring Eivor had given her at the sunken tower from beneath her cloak and held it before Gunnar who looked to be moments away from bursting into tears.

“Steady Gunnar.” He took a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to compose himself before taking the silver and holding it to the light, twisting and turning it as he imagined the various ways he could work with the metal.

“For Eivor yes?” His question was met with a shy smile and proved to be all the answer he needed. He was happy beyond measure that the gruff warrior with such a tragic past had found some semblance of peace and if he could help them both solidify it, he would be honoured to do so.

“Tis a fine thing but not what you have in mind?”

“No.” Eivor deserved something that symbolised what their love could be, not something tarnished by cruel words and past agonies. “I wondered if anything could be done?”

“Hmmm…I could engrave it with runes …possibly melt it down and recast it…but the metal would be weak and fragile…”

“Could it be strengthened with another metal?” His eyes shone with possibilities.

“Possibly, I will speak with Rima but if not I will design a love token so beautiful our fearless Drengr will weep at the sight of it.” They shared a teasing smile at the images Gunnar’s word conjured before she turned away to return to her work.

“Randvi…” Her name spoken into the wind halted her steps. “You know that I was Varin’s blacksmith before …” His voice trailed off as grief-stained memories clouded his mind.

“I do.”

“So you also know that I have known Eivor since she was but a wee babe nestled in her mother’s arms.” His eyes shone as he remembered seeing the new-born for the first time. “Ah, she was a sweet little thing; she never cried, not even when the nights grew cold.” Randvi smiled at the image of a tiny Eivor swaddled in furs and surrounded by those who loved her.

“You should have seen her as she grew older! Always underfoot – it frustrated her mother and delighted her father.” His eyes became misty as he recalled those happier times.

“But after Kjotve the cruel she became colder, less trusting of the world and those who walked its earth. She has suffered much…I would hate to see her suffer more.”

She bit her bottom lip as she felt the familiar sting of regret. She knew what the man asked of her; do not hurt Eivor any further. “Gunnar I…”

“Peace Randvi…you need not answer. You and Eivor have reconciled with the past that much is clear. But if I may ask… what is Eivor to you?”

Gunnar watched in delight as the softest smile graced his friend's face and he knew then that he need never worry for Eivor’s wellbeing again.

“Gunnar…she is _everything_ …”

\--

Eivor’s strangles gasps of breath echoed around the empty cavern as she and Sigurd stared at the lifeless form of a man they had once admired and called friend. Her hands shook violently as she gripped the wound at her side, cringing as warmth spilled across her fingers and stained her clothing a deep red.

“Does he…still live?” Her frame shook with the force of Sigurd’s hand colliding with her shoulder. He appeared relatively unscathed from their shared experiences; lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders - something she could not say for herself. Everything she had once believed in; honor, glory, the Gods, everything now lay in tatters at her feet.

_Events to think on at another time…_

“He does…but in darkness.”

“Good…the bastard.” Sparing Basim a final look of contempt, she bent to retrieve the arrows she had fired before stumbling towards the stone staircase they had climbed a lifetime ago.

_I …I need to rest…_

Every part of her body felt numb except the burning in her side which seemed to pulse with red hot flame every second she remained standing; she briefly wondered whether Basim had laced his blade with poison before he had plunged the steel into the soft tissue of her stomach.

_Bacraut…crazed fool…_

“Gods!” Sigurd’s voice was strained as he collapsed onto the steps. “Am I to be hounded by a parade of blood-minded traitors the whole of my life? There is no end to this.”

_Do you count me as one of your traitors’ brother…?_

She wanted more than anything to be able to comfort him, to soothe his ego with honeyed lies but she lacked the energy to mutter anything of consequence. She sat beside him before reaching for her cloak and removing it from her shoulders. She was freezing but she had a more urgent use for the thick material.

“You have something you want to say?” She bundled the furs into a tight ball and pressed it against the wound as stars burst before her eyes. “Then say it.” She and her brother had danced around hurt feelings and perceived slights for long enough; they would either leave this place as kin or strangers.

“I… I need some time to breathe. That man’s anger. His rage. It had a familiar sting that I… I cannot place.” She silently agreed; the cockiness of his blows, the self-assuredness of his steps had seemed achingly familiar and yet she did not know why. Perhaps it best that she never would.

“He was raving Sigurd. Without sense or reason. Pay it no mind.” Silence surrounded them as they each reflected on the lengths one man would go to exact his vengeance.

“I am not mad Eivor. These things I see and feel…I know they are true.”

“I know brother. Now more than ever.” Images of Valhalla, of Odin and her parents flickered through her mind’s eye and left her reeling; for all she had seen she understood none of it. “You always spoke true.”

She peeled the blood-soaked furs from her side and cringed as fibers stuck to blood-stained skin; she had hoped the bleeding would have slowed by now.

_Bacraut…_

“We should cast our eyes to England. It is a long journey and I…am not well…” Sigurd looked to Eivor and noticed for the first time how pale her skin seemed in the fading blue light. He shuffled closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, running his hand up and down the length of her arm to try and stave off the chill in the air.

“Home…can you walk?” A wry smile from her lips helped to lift his spirits.

“If I said no would you carry me?” A startled laugh burst from his lungs.

“Even with two arms, I could not bear your weight.” If she possessed the strength she would have struck him for that insult. Taking the hand offered to her, she slowly stood and took a hesitant step forward, then another.

She tried to ignore the weight of Sigurd’s stare as she straightened with a pained gasp, choosing instead to focus on questions that needed answers rather than the burning in her veins.

“Sigurd…what we saw…what we lived…was it real or an illusion?” He did not answer right away for he did not know for certain. It had felt real; every blow of his sword had tested his strength and every sip of mead had pushed the boundaries of his stomach, but as Eivor had pointed out, he had known real battle and he had not experienced it then.

“Whether it was real or not does not matter; it simply was. Here.” He pointed to a slab of rock and gently pushed Eivor towards it. “Rest a moment.” Her protests died in her throat when she saw the concern in his eyes; if he was looking at her like that she was surely in a bad way.

“M’fine…a scratch, nothing more.”

“No…this wound is deep Eivor.” Eyes rapidly darkening with worry flickered to meet Eivor’s as his hands pressed against the furs at her side; he had not seen what caused the wound but he had a vague idea.

“Come Eivor, let us leave this place for kinder shores.”

“Sigurd…I do not think…I can …” Gods she was tired, so tired that even the act of breathing was proving to be difficult. She had suffered wounds before but never at the hands of a trained assassin who knew the perfect place to strike.

“On your feet Drengr.” She grumbled in annoyance as Sigurd gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet before dragging her through the winding cavern. “Today is not your final day.” As they moved through the dark, he filled the silence with tales of their youth, of battles fought with sticks and stones and days spent roaming the wild in search of Kjotve and his clan.

“M’surprised Kjotve did not find us…” Her voice was sluggish to his ears and he cursed himself for ever trusting the man who now existed in darkness. “…with you crowing like a raven …” The man scoffed but decided against pointing out that _she_ was the one who had charged into the forest with a war cry in her lungs. Tales of happier times slipped from their thoughts as they reflected on more recent events. 

“Sigurd…there was a moment before…when I…I saw –” Her voice died in her throat as she remembered staring up at her parents as they had stood shrouded in light, their arms warm and solid under her fingers as they pulled her from the darkness and into their embrace.

“…saw what?”

She shook her head as tears welled in her eyes; the grief she had suppressed for so long had roared into life at the memory of her mother and father, gripping her heart in a vice-like grip and robbing her of the ability to speak further of what she had seen. If Sigurd noticed her tears he did not comment; whatever she had seen would be shared only when she was ready.

Their attention drifted to the opening of the cavern. “The white tempest you spoke off has quietened.” The swirling storm of ice and snow had been replaced with crystal blue skies that reminded Eivor of England, and England inevitably made her think of Randvi.

_I told her I would be safe…_

“Sigurd…there are things we must speak of…things that…cannot wait…”

She gripped tightly to his arm as they began the slow descent through the snowdrifts; the snowstorm that had gripped the coast may have dissipated but the air was still ice cold.

“Eivor you do not need –” Her hand collided with his chest as annoyance swelled within her; she would speak what needed to be said while she still had the strength and he would listen.

“Randvi…I…I care for her.” Sluggish steps came to an abrupt halt as her words registered in his mind. He had long suspected that Eivor had developed a particular fondness for his previous wife but he had lacked the will to pursue that thought further, as doing so would mean confronting his own failures towards the woman he had once been pledged to.

“Sigurd?”

“I know Eivor. We will speak of these matters another time when you are fit enough to tell all.” Judging by the particular shine in Eivor’s eyes he suspected that they had a lot to discuss.

“I…I am sorry –” He shook his head as he gripped her hand tightly. No matter how bitter this knowledge tasted in his mouth, he would not begrudge either woman for pursuing their own happiness, not when he had spent many nights doing the same.

“Come, let us return to our ship and tend to your wounds.” The final hundred meters passed in a blur of faltering steps and heavy breaths until finally, the green sails of the Longship came into view.

“Hej!” She flinched as Sigurd shouted directly next to her ear and she summoned what remained of her strength to slap his shoulder. “Come help me with this!”

_This?... If I was fit enough for a fight…you would pay for that brother…_

Eivor forced herself to stand tall as the monstrous form of her oldest friend charged up the mountain towards them. “By the Gods Eivor, what have you done now?”

Vili slipped his arm around her waist and together, he and Sigurd quickly crossed what remained of the frozen expanse before loading the injured Drengr into the belly of the ship.

“Well Well sunbeam, you seem to have made a mess of these fine leathers.” Despite the humor in her voice, Birna's face betrayed a level of concern Eivor had not known that the woman could possess.

The two men stepped back to look to the distant shores of Hordafylke. “She cannot make the journey to England, not with a wound that weeps blood with the slightest movement.” Vili dared not think of what a week of rough seas would do to his friends’ health.

“Agreed, although it pains me to say it.” Only one option presented itself to Sigurd and it was an option he did not wish to take. “We will return to my father and seek his aid.” He had sworn to himself that he would never ask for his father’s help, that he would never bend a knee to a man so cowardly but if he did not, he stood to lose more than he could bear.

“Once we are settled, you will return to England and tell our people what has happened.” This was not a command Villi felt he could follow but he knew better than to argue his case to remain here. The clan would not be happy to see them returned without their jarl and prized Drengr but they deserved to know the truth however painful it was to hear. His gaze landed on his oldest friend who now sat slumped against Rollo’s shoulder swaddled in furs; it was hardly the image of a fearsome warrior.

“If you die Wolf-Kissed I will …I will…” In truth, he had no idea what he would do but he hoped the empty threat would be enough to keep Eivor’s spirits high in the coming days. The woman stuck her tongue out at him and he felt the fear that gripped him tightly lessen slightly; if she had the strength to mock him she had the strength to overcome that bleeding wound.

“Villi…” Sigurd’s expression was dark as an unwelcome thought drifted through his mind. Basim had been a loyal companion during the years since they had met abroad but he had not come alone. There was one other who still walked amongst the shadows…

“When you return to England…watch Hytham closely.”

“Brother…” Eivor’s voice contained the same disbelief he had initially felt when his mind conjured the image of Basim and Hytham plotting against them. “Hytham would not betray us…he would never…” Sigurd prayed this was true for he could not bear to unearth another betrayal.

“Did we not think the same of Basim?” Blue eyes became clouded with doubt as his words planted a seed of fear in her mind. The kind, willful man who had taught her to operate unseen surely could not possess the same blackened heart as his mentor. She would not believe it, not until proof of this treachery was placed before her.

She let her eyes drift to the blue skies overhead as her thoughts drifted to home. The wind, once biting with ice was now nothing more than a pleasant breeze against her heated skin, ruffling the stray strands of blonde and cooling her growing fever. As she closed her eyes, she could almost believe that she lay in a rowing boat that sailed down the rivers near the settlement and that the wind against her face was actually Randvi’s breath caressing her skin as she leaned in close--

“Rise and shine sunbeam!” Eivor’s eyes snapped open to stare up at Birna whose teasing smile seemed less vibrant. The wound at her side still throbbed but the pain was dull where it had once been piercing; a worrying thought for one who had seen death close hand. 

“Basim…spoke of his son…did he speak to you of this?”

Sigurd’s searched the wellspring of his memory before moving through the boat to sit by Eivor’s side. “Once…long ago in Miklagard, when our friendship was new and my heart was open to the wonders he spoke of.” When he had mentioned his son his words had been tinged with sadness but as Sigurd looked back on the events that had come to pass, he realised he had confused sadness with a concealed fury.

_Gods, how long had he planned his treachery…_

The bustling borough of Hordafylke rushed to meet them as the crew dismantled the sail. “Sigurd?” The man spared Eivor a final smile of reassurance before he jumped from the boat to land heavily on the wooden dock. He weaved through the crowds expertly before he entered the empty alehouse, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the slumped form of a once-proud king.

“Father.” Styrbjorn did not raise his gaze from the mug of mead clasped in his grasp.

“Have you come to wound me further my son?” Sigurd felt no shame for the words he had uttered but he regretted the tone he had used; despite everything that had happened, this man was still his father.

“No…I come for your aid.” The mug of mead which had been moments away from touching Styrbjorn’s lips crashed down upon the wooden table.

“You seek my aid after you painted me as the demon of your saga?” Sigurd bristled at his fathers’ tone but he forced himself to remain calm and humble, if only for Eivor’s sake.

“I do not come here for myself, but for Eivor. She is …unwell. We were attacked by one I once called friend. Her injury is severe father…” Eivor had been injured many times before but Basim’s blade was sharper than any blade known to either of them; who knew what damage the man had inflicted.

Styrbjorn hesitated at the sight of Sigurd’s slumped shoulders and crestfallen features. An age had passed between the events of now and then, yet this man, this lost prince was still his son and that was a bond no words or deeds could break.

“Please father.” Sigurd had not begged for anything since he was a young boy but he would beg for this. “…for the love I _know_ you once bore us…help her.”

The former King of Fornburg bid a fond farewell to the faithful alehouse that had been his home and stepped into the blinding sunlight with his son at his side. “Take me to her.”

\--

The sound of horns in the distance greeted the raiders as they navigated the now-familiar rivers of England. After a week of sailing the open seas, their hearts should have been filled with excitement at the thought of the straw-filled beds and barrels of mead that awaited them but instead, their minds were clouded with concern for the warrior left behind. No one spoke as they docked the ship and they ignored those who gathered at the river's edge to welcome them home, choosing to instead walk past them with hurried steps.

“Rollo…rally everyone to the Longhouse, let us rid ourselves of this burden we have carried.” Although he physically stood upon English soil his heart and mind remained in Norway with the woman now at the mercy of King Harold’s healers. The wound had ceased to bleed by the time he and the raiders had set sail but the beginnings of a fever had taken hold; the sight of reddened cheeks and sweat pooling on her brow had been haunting.

“Vili, you have returned!” Tove’s voice was light and carefree as she abandoned her post to approached the salt-cured raiders. “Are Eivor and Sigurd with you?”

Those who stood behind Villi shared looks of concerns that made Tove’s blood freeze.

“Come to the Longhouse …we will talk there.”

Their steps contained an element of urgency that both were afraid to address but knew that they must. With a prayer to Tyr for strength, Villi entered the Longhouse and stood before the empty throne as Randvi appeared in the archway. Her eyes flickered to the empty space beside Villi and she felt her heart stop.

_Gods…please…not her…_

“You come alone. I fear what that means…”

“I come with…grim news Jarlskona. News that may be difficult to hear, but I swear every word is true.”

The Longhouse was deathly silent as Villi began to describe the journey to Norway, the confrontation between Styrbjorn and Sigurd, and their arrival at the shores of Gungnir. His eyes drifted to Hytham who stood beside Gunnar and Brigid as his tale drew to a close.

“I know not what occurred in that cavern of ice and metal but I do know that our Jarl was betrayed, by one he held close to his chest.” Randvi gripped the edge of the wooden throne tightly as she looked around at those gathered with mistrusting eyes.

“Who?”

Who had betrayed those who had taken in so many of England’s lost souls? Who had returned their kindness with brutality?

“Basim.” The name hung in the air like a poisoned cloud. “It was the Hidden one’s blade which pierced the side of our prized Drengr, his rage which spilled her blood on those distant shores!” The cries of outrage which filled the hall were drowned out by the ringing in Randvi’s ears as she was faced with her greatest fear. Firm hands carefully guided her to sit upon Sigurd’s throne as Hytham wept for a betrayal he did not understand.

“No! That cannot be true! Basim loved Eivor and Sigurd…” His cries of disbelief were lost amongst a sea of questions asked by those gathered.

“What of Sigurd?”

“What happened to Basim?”

“Does Eivor live?” Randvi’s voice trembled as an uneasy silence settled over them; each person knew the impact Eivor’s death would have on their clan and the woman sat before them.

The warrior stepped forward and took her hand gently. “She does Randvi, but she was too weak to make the journey to England. She recovers in Fornburg, with her father and brother.”

“Fornburg…” She may as well have been at the bottom of the ocean.

Valka’s hand which had gripped Randvi’s shoulder tightened as the Seer turned to Villi with a furrowed gaze. “Tell me of the wound.” She and the clan waited as Villi closed his eyes in concentration and raised his fingers to his own side.

“Here.” He pointed to the soft skin of his abdomen as Valka nodded slowly. “It bled heavily but stopped when we – “

“Left her…you left her!” Anger clouded her judgement as Randvi exploded from the throne; this man had claimed to have loved Eivor like a sister but still, he had left her.

“If he had not crossed the seas, you would not have known of Eivor’s fate.” In that moment Randvi despised her friend and the words she whispered in her ear; she did not want to be soothed by facts, she wanted only to punish those who had not protected Eivor. 

“Hidden one, your weapon.” The clan watched with warry eyes as Hytham handed over the weapon that he had so fiercely protected from outsiders. He flipped the mechanism that would unsheathe the blade and bowed his head in shame; the weapon had been forged with a single purpose – to kill, but he had never thought it would be used against one he considered a friend.

“This blade is sharp; its design simplistic but deadly.” Emerald eyes lingered on the weapon as the anger she had felt was replaced with sorrow; she had seen the damage that weapon could do.

“What can be done?”

“If the wound is deep only fire can cleanse it…but if not a salve may be applied.” The thought of Eivor enduring the agony of flame on skin left her struggling to breathe.

_This cannot be happening…she has endured too much already…if she dies now…Gods what if she dies…_

Valka’s voice rose as she addressed the hall. “The Gods favour Eivor, this we all know. Her path is paved with glory and ends at Valhalla. Her fate is not to die at the hand of this trickster, this deceiver. She will live, this I am certain.” 

They all took comfort in the Seers words but to Randvi it was not enough. She needed to see for herself that Eivor would survive another winter, needed to feel the rise and fall of the woman’s chest under her fingertips, but to do that, she needed to leave.

“Ready your crew…” Her words were met with a murmur of approval from those gathered.

“Randvi.” Valka was loathed to say the words that needed to be said. “You cannot. You are the only noble among us…you have a duty to remain here, with your clan.”

Eyes that had burned with determination dimmed in exhaustion. Duty…how much of herself had she given to this clan over the years? Was she fated to spend her life waiting for something beyond her grasp? Her eyes flickered to Gunnar who looked to her with pity; he understood the price paid by those asked to lead more than any of those present.

“If our roles were reversed, Eivor would come to my side. She would come to any of our sides if we called.” Valka inclined her head in agreement as something resembling a smile graced her features; she was not the only one to notice that Randvi spoke only of Eivor.

“She crossed the oceans as she felt a duty to protect her brother and now she lays injured at the hands of…” her voice fell silent as Hytham’s cheeks burned with shame.

_You are not to blame Hytham…Eivor would not blame you…_

“She is far from the lands she calls home, far from those she loves and I will see her returned to us. _That_ is my duty.” No further words needed to be said as she left her place by the throne to approach Vili whose eyes glistened with pride.

“We will fly like seabirds Jarlskona. Our ship will skim the waters like a skipping stone tossed by Thor.” She nodded gratefully as the raiders grabbed what little food remained from the early feast and dashed towards the docks to restock their Longboat.

"I shall accompany you Randvi." The Seer's calming presence would be a sorely needed salve to the grief-stricken woman who now looked to the long voyage that lay before them.

_Hold on my love…we have many days ahead of us yet…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 will focus on the trauma that I don't think was fully explored in the game - so you know it's gonna be angsty!


	18. Norway Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really hope this is ok because it is 2am and I don't want to look at Microsoft Word anymore....

Fornburg’s Longhouse had not changed much in the years since the Raven’s had fled to England’s shores; the walls were still adorned with animal skins and tusks, the map of Norway that had once been scrutinised by Randvi’s keen eyes still lay upon the same wooden table and the flames hanging from the rafters still burned just as brightly. As Eivor looked around what had once been the seat of their clan’s power, she was struck by the realisation that the only thing that had changed was herself.

Her experiences in the cavern of ice and metal had left her shaken and uncertain of the path that lay before her; images of Odin’s spear driving into the mirky depths as lightning crashed around her stole what little breath remained in her lungs and forced her to lean against her brother’s chest as her vision blurred. 

“Sigurd…” Her brother’s warmth pressed against her side made her keenly aware of how cold she felt but whether that cold was from the arctic winds that had ravaged them or the blood loss, she should not say. Her steps were unsteady and sluggish as blood-soaked material clung to the wound at her side and sent pain radiating through her with every movement; she hoped that wherever she was being dragged to had a bed and a mug of ale waiting.

“Keep moving Drengr.” Although whispered, her brother’s words sounded like a thunderclap reverberating around her skull. “We are nearly there.”

Styrbjorn waited anxiously by the archway as Sigurd dragged Eivor towards a bed of straw surrounded by dimming candles, his eyes widening in nervousness at the sight of her blood-stained armour. He watched helplessly as Sigurd cradled Eivor to his chest as he helped her lay back against the mattress; it may have been the copious amount of mead consumed or the years that had passed but he could not remember ever seeing Sigurd so concerned for the welfare of another.

_Perhaps England has softened your pride, my son…_

A sigh of relief slipped from Eivor’s lips as she relaxed into the furs and stared up at the darkened ceiling. The adrenaline which had sustained her during their journey to Fornburg had long since dissipated, leaving behind aching limbs and a hollowness in her chest she had fought so hard to fill.

“Bacraut…”

Sigurd scoffed at her tone. “I hope you do not mean me Wolf-kissed.” A teasing smile shared between siblings did nothing to hide the worry Sigurd felt as he stared down at Eivor’s bloodied tunic. The wound had mercifully stopped bleeding by the time Vili had bid farewell to both them and Norway but the amount of blood she had lost had left her weak and feverish; a sight he was not used to seeing.

Styrbjorn watched the two closely as his frustration rose; he had kept his tongue during the long voyage from Alrekstad to Fornburg but he could keep silent no longer. “Sigurd what has happened? How has Eivor come to suffer such a wound?”

His question was ignored as Sigurd moved towards the ale barrel by the hearth, pausing to spare his father an exasperated look before plunging the mug he had swiped from a nearby table into the mirky depths.

Sigurd handed the mug to Eivor who accepted it gratefully before looking over his shoulder to his father. “We were attacked by a treacherous snake, let us say no more.” In truth Sigurd wished for nothing more than to suppress all memory of Basim and his treachery; to think back on that man’s anger and the hatred in his eyes as he had stepped from the shadows with his weapon drawn had left a vile taste in his mouth. As his thoughts drifted to England once more, he prayed that Hytham did not possess the same bitterness in his heart.

Eivor’s fingers gripped the edge of her tunic tightly before she slowly peeled the soaked fabric away from her side, wincing as stuck fibres pulled and re-opened the wound. Her sheepish glance to Sigurd was rewarded with a raised brow and darkened eyes; they both knew the best way to seal a wound like this but neither wished to summon the blacksmith, at least not until they had found more mead.

“But who? Blood of Tyr Sigurd, answer me!”

“Later father, we will speak of these vile matters once Eivor has healed.”

A shadow passed over the entrance of the chamber as a familiar yet unwelcome voice split the air. “I am afraid later is not possible Sigurd Jarl.” The siblings shared a look that spoke of their mutual distrust as the intimidating form of King Harald appeared in the archway.

Styrbjorn’s eyes flickered between Harald and Sigurd as the two men viewed each other with caution; despite the years that had passed neither had forgotten the circumstances that had driven the ravens across the seas.

“King Harald.”

“Sigurd Jarl, I bid you welcome to my lands.” Eivor rolled her eyes at the obvious attempt by the King to test the limits of her brother's self-control but to her immense relief, Sigurd refused to rise to the challenge put before him, something that pleased both rulers who now viewed him with a tad more respect.

“We did not announce our arrival Lord, how did you know to come?”

Tired eyes looked to Styrbjorn as a knowing smile graced her features, she knew exactly who had informed Harald of their return. She expected to feel the familiar sting of betrayal when Styrbjorn confirmed that he had written to Harald, but instead she felt only pity; pity for a once-powerful man who now seemed afraid of his own shadow.

_How strange the threads of fate that bind us…_

“You are injured Eivor Wolf-Kissed.”

Eyes that had drifted closed snapped open to reveal Harald now sat by her side with his hands clenched tightly in his lap. She nodded slowly as sweat began to pool on her brow; she had suffered stab wounds before but those blades had felt dull compared to what had pierced her side hours before. “I…I am Lord.”

“How has this come to pass?” Harald asked both out of concern for the woman he greatly admired and an obligation as a ruler. Long-held resentments between his people had given way to a tentative peace but if that peace had been broken and the woman before him was now a victim of that violence, he would see those responsible punished.

A shared look between Sigurd and Eivor was all that was needed for the former to launch into a tale of destiny lost and friendship regained. “We returned to bid farewell to this life Lord, but in the process, we reclaimed our lust for it.” Eivor smiled at Sigurd’s words; she was not the only poet among them it seemed.

“A man who I once trusted, who I once turned to for counsel followed us like a fox in the brush. It was his blade which struck the blow, his betrayal that...that…” The room grew silent as thoughts of treachery clouded the minds of the three men; each were familiar with the act and hoped never to experience its sting.

“Does this man live?” Eivor held her breath as she considered the implications of their answer; to say they had killed their attacker could lead to their banishment from these lands but to say he lived would be a mark against their honour.

“He exists only in darkness. I will say no more.”

This did not satisfy the king but Harald knew it would be unlikely that he would hear more. Resigning himself to an evening of unanswered questions, he turned to a man who had seemed to appear out of thin air.

“Uncle?” The messenger from the North who had delivered the news that led to their departure moved to his nephew's side.

“Send for the healer.” The smile he wore when he turned to Eivor was tight but hopeful.

“It seems fate has crossed our threads once more Eivor Wolf-Kissed. You are welcome in my lands so long as your blades remain sheathed.”

A fair trade, especially for one who doubted she could even lift her weapon let alone wield it.

“Thank you Lord…”

She waited for the man to leave her sight before allowing her eyes to close once more; she needed only a moment's rest…

Just…

One…

_Moment…_

Her eyes snapped open hours later to reveal a Longhouse bathed in candlelight. The night had crept in whilst she was sleeping to cloak what had once been their home in an inky darkness broken only by the silver moon that shone through the cracks. The air was silent save the crackling of firewood and the distant mumble of spoken words between her brother and foster father and she turned her head slightly in an attempt to hear what they were saying.

“Sigurd?”

The heavy stomping of footsteps grew louder as he appeared by her side with a relieved smile.

“Eivor, you wake at last!”

“I did not mean to fall asleep brother.”

She had only closed her eyes for a second but now it seemed the entire day was lost to her. She looked to the darkness surrounding them as her thoughts drifted to the Longboat sailing towards their home with two empty seats; she prayed that Thor granted them calm seas and that the news of her injury when it reached her would not weigh too heavily on Randvi’s heart.

_Please forgive me my love…I wish more than anything to be beside you …_

“Hush Eivor, recover your strength.” A figure appeared in the archway behind Sigurd clasping a bundle of herbs to her chest - Harald’s healer it seemed. “I fear you may need it.”

Sigurd hovered by the edge of her bed as the healer gently poked and prodded Eivor’s stomach, noting her reactions with slow nods of her head before pulling vials of herbs from the bundle at her side. He felt his heart lurch at the pitiful whimper Eivor muttered as indelicate fingers pressed against the clean edges of the wound before withdrawing completely and beckoning for Sigurd to joining her. 

“The wound needs to be cleansed, and for that we need fire.”

Cauterising a bleeding wound was cruel, painful, and agonising but Sigurd knew it was the best, if not the only option. His eyes drifted to the web of scar tissue that spread across Eivor’s neck; he had not been brave enough to sit by Eivor’s side when that injury had been treated but he had been close enough to hear her screams as they sealed the wounds shut. The memory of her cries echoing through the settlement still haunted him.

This time he would be brave.

“Father…send for the blacksmith…”

Blue eyes flickered open as she heard her brother’s words and she reached for the mug of ale at her side; if she was going to feel the familiar agony of heated steel she wanted her senses to be as dulled as possible. A jug appeared before her and she waited impatiently for her brother to fill her mug again before she drank deeply.

“Eivor…had I known that this awaited us…I would not have asked you to accompany me.” Had he known he would shortly be holding his sister down as glowing metal was pressed against her side, he would have burnt their Longships so they could never sail towards the lands of their birth.

“We cannot unweave our fates brother.” She looked to the healer as she approached with a blacksmith she did not recognise in tow.

_I am glad you are not here Gunnar …you always hated this part …_

She smiled fondly as she thought of the squeamish giant; whenever any of them returned from a raid with wounds that required the use of Gunnar’s forge, the blacksmith would conveniently disappear to retrieve firewood or healing herbs; a source of great amusement for Eivor and the Clan but as she watched this stranger plunge the steel into the flames, she couldn’t help but wish for the older man’s calming presence.

_I am glad you are not here Randvi…I would not want you to see this…_

The woman who waited for her across the seas had been on her mind from the moment she had waved goodbye to Vili and the raiders. If she had moved to the left and not the right, if she had been aggressive instead of merciful perhaps she would have avoided Basim’s blade and would once more be in Randvi’s arms. She shook her head and looked to the ceiling once more; such thoughts were of no use to her now.

The bed dipping under her brother’s weight pulled her from her thoughts and she frowned at his offering of a stick wrapped in twine. She remembered something similar being forced between her teeth when she was 8 winters old and the memory of what would shortly follow left her shaking with adrenaline.

She watched with wide, fearful eyes as the steel blade was pulled from the flames and carried towards her. She was so focussed on the blacksmith’s weapon that she failed to notice the healer gripping the hem of her tunic and pulling it upwards to reveal the blood-stained cloth Sigurd had hastily wrapped around her stomach.

“You are familiar with this treatment it seems.” The Drengr recoiled as the healer gently poked the scar tissue at her neck. She remembered very little of the nights following the raid by Kjotve’s raid but she remembered the way the blade had felt on her skin and the smell of burnt flesh.

She flinched as Sigurd’s hand pressed down upon her shoulder to keep her still as the blade hovered over her skin before her gaze shifted to Styrbjorn who stood at the foot of the bed. She did not know if it was the pull of duty or the fear in her eyes that made him approach and grip her hand but she was grateful all the same.

“Whatever your reason for clinging to this life Drengr, think of it now.”

The stifled scream that left her mouth when the blade was pressed firmly against the edges of the wound would later be described by those who heard it as Godlike. The searing pain consumed the Drengr for what felt like an eternity until finally, mercifully, her grip on reality weakened and she willingly succumbed to the heavy darkness that embraced her.

\--

Randvi gripped the edge of the Longboat tightly as the waves collided with the wood and dowsed them with saltwater that soaked their clothes and darkened their moods. They had left the shores of England behind a number of days before yet the coasts of Norway continued to allude them. As the days slowly melted into one the crew began to wonder if they would ever see land again.

“Randvi, you must eat.” The woman shook her head before tugging her winter cloak tighter around her shoulders.

“I am fine Valka, truly.” Her appetite had been missing ever since she had learned of Basim’s betrayal. She had spent many long evenings with the man discussing the alliances of England, Sigurd’s visions, and her own fears that she dare not say to Eivor; to think that he had then taken those fears and made them a reality left her sick to her stomach.

_I hope you are in your religion’s version of Hel Basim…for if you still walk this earth I will send you there myself…_

Vili’s shoulder bumped against hers as he sat heavily beside her. “Eivor will impale my arse on a spike if you were to arrive with an empty stomach.” His voice was light on the air despite the heaviness behind his words; he would be sorely punished if any harm came to Randvi but only if Eivor was well enough to administer that punishment.

Randvi’s attention shifted to the horizon as she reflected on the reasons for their passage across the seas. “If she lives…”

Her comment caused those closest to her to share a look of concern. The woman had grown more reflective as England’s shores disappeared from view, more despondent as the days passed with no land in sight. 

“She lives Randvi, of this I am certain.” She wished she could share in Valka’s certainty but the closer she came to Norway, the greater her fear grew that she would arrive too late.

“Here.” Vili passed Randvi some fruit he had managed to hide from Rollo with a reassuring smile. “It will take more than a decorated dagger to fell the great oak that is Eivor Pant-Less.” The nickname brought a tentative smile to Randvi’s lips as she took comfort in the words offered by those she had come to adore.

“I know, I know. She has suffered wounds before; we all have but…” Her voice trailed off as she looked back over the years. When Eivor had returned from forging an alliance bruised, bloody, and burnt it had been she who had soothed her injuries with gentle touches and reassuring words; to think of her injured and alone in a land that no longer welcomed them made her wish for stronger winds.

_Please hold on Eivor…_

Rollo stood from his position by the stern of the boat and looked over the choppy seas with a distance in his eyes. “I remember when Estrid was injured on the docks of Wulfaswic, shortly before we fled England’s shores.” The crew’s ears perked up at the beginnings of a tale that would surely banish the boredom that had plagued them.

“Seeing her like that stirred something in me. It felt as if all the joy I had ever known and been swept aside, leaving me hollow and cold.” He thought often of that day, what he could have done differently, what he should have said…

“Before that day I had been an arrogant boy, running around Essexe and ploughing anything that moved, and it was on those cold foreign docks that I realised how foolish I had been.”

Any jokes that would have been made were silenced by a stern look from Randvi who nodded for the man to continue.

“She lived, thank the gods and we fled England’s shores to Francia where she will live out her days in peace. I think often of that night and what could have been and although it still pains me that she did not stay, I am made better by knowing her.”

Axes beaten against wooden shields applauded the end of his sad tale. Randvi had heard tales of what had happened in Essexe from her scouts and from Eivor, but they had all failed to mention the dramatic battle on the docks. As Rollo abandoned his vigil to return to his seat, she reached for the man’s hand and squeezed his fingers gently; knowing that there was someone else among them who had experienced this form of agony made her burden slightly lighter.

Birna tapped her shoulder just as a wave collided with their ship and drenched them with sea-spray. “She worried about you too flame-haired.” The raider wiped several droplets from her cloak as Randvi turned to face her.

“You recall the river raid by that bacraut Rued’s men? What a night that was! The din of battle rang in our ears like twinkling bells and we wet our blades in coward’s blood. None more so than our sharpest blade.” A rousing cheer filled the air as those present recalled how Eivor had sprinted from the Longhouse with fire in her eyes and blade in her grasp; an inspiring sight to a clan so newly settled.

“But these keen eyes spotted one detail you blood-crazed Drengr’s missed!” Anticipation filled the air as Birna paused for dramatic effect before pointing at Randvi.

“She did not leave your side, not once! Not when glory called to her from the shoreline, not when those cowardly sheep had her backed into a corner. I asked her later when those slimy eels had been tossed back into the river, why she had not pursued them into the forests and she smiled and looked at you. I knew then that our cold-hearted Drengr, had a softness to her that we mortals would never see!”

“Birna…” To hear that the Drengr had worried for her safety just as much as she herself worried for Eivor’s should not have taken her by surprise; it was in the woman’s nature to be concerned for the safety of her people and yet this knowledge left her wracked with guilt. She had put herself in harm’s way to satisfy her lust for battle but by doing so, she had endangered Eivor’s safety by distracting her.

“She was proud of you that night.”

Eyes that shone with adoration looked to the seas once more. “I am proud of her every day.” Those gathered did not think that Randvi meant to say those words out loud but they were glad she did if only so they could echo their agreement; Eivor had honoured their clan with her loyalty and love for them and it was now time for them to return that devotion.

Oars slipped through the side of the ship to glide through the waters below to hurry their arrival into Fornburg; the tides may dictate the speed that they sailed, but the clear water was no match for the Ravens who were determined to reclaim one of their own. 

\--

The fever which had gripped Eivor tightly finally broke on the third day, much to Styrbjorn’s immense relief. The man hovered anxiously on the edge of the chamber as he watched Eivor and Sigurd discuss matters which he was no longer privy to, frowning as the words ‘Valhalla’ and ‘Visions’ reached his ears. After a few more minutes of these discussions, he stepped into the room and cleared his throat.

“Father?” Ice blue eyes met his hesitantly and he was struck by just how young Eivor looked in that moment; before him lay the child of 8 winters who had presented him with her grandfather’s arm ring, not the warrior who had led countless men into battle.

“I must speak to King Harald about our presence here Eivor.” Sigurd’s voice was hushed as he removed himself from Eivor’s side. “Rest, I shall return soon.” Eivor wished she could accompany her brother into the King’s domain if only so she could hold his temper in check, but the constant throbbing in her side forced her to remain still. Father and Son regarded each other carefully before Sigurd slipped from the chamber without a backward glance; evidently, some wounds would need more time to heal.

“May I?” Eivor nodded and waited for the man to settle beside the bed before she nodded towards the empty archway.

“Sigurd has endured much in the years that have passed Lord; I hope you do not hold his words too close to you.” Sigurd’s judgment of the decisions he had made for the benefit of his clan had hurt him deeply not because his words had been cruel, but because it was his son who had said them. All he had ever wanted was to secure his son’s future, to provide him with a safe haven to return to whenever it was needed but in doing so, he had driven his son far from his reach.

“What happened to him? What turmoil did he see that took his arm and darkened his mood?”

“That is not my tale to share.” She wondered whether she would ever be able to think of Suthsexe and Cent without terror gripping her heart. She hoped the sorrow that accompanied those memories would lessen with time but she feared those events would remain with her until she was called to Valhalla.

_If…if I am called to Valhalla…_

Valhalla…the hall of the slain …a place only those who lived and died with honour could ever hope to see. Every action, every decision, every moment of her life had been spent striving to reach Odin’s halls but now, she feared such a place was lost to her. This realisation should have filled her with terror but instead, she had accepted her fate with a grateful acceptance; after all she had seen and done she no longer wished for glory, she only wished for peace.

“Eivor?” 

She looked to Strybjorn as her cheeks burned with embarrassment; her ability to focus on anything but the memories of her past had been missing these last few days – another parting gift from Basim.

“I…forgive me Lord.” She did not seek forgiveness for her drifting attention but for a more grievous sin, one she had been forced to face and reconcile herself with the longer she remained in Norway.

“Lord…” Styrbjorn’s eyes widened in surprise as Eivor tentatively reached for the man’s arm; he could not remember a time when Eivor had ever reached out to him, not even when she had been a young child tormented by nightmares.

_You always reached for Sigurd when dreams of wolves tormented you…_

“I…I have had much time to reflect on the words we have exchanged over the course of my life…words that were spoken in anger…” The relationship they had forged in the aftermath of her parent’s death had been based on pain, mistrust and anger; feelings that had only intensified the older Eivor became. The man who had pulled her from the ice and tended to her injuries had quickly been replaced with a man too cautious and afraid to defend his people against their enemies, at least in the eyes of one too naive to understand the art of ruling.

 _“_ I once called you a coward for bending your knee to Harald, for robbing Sigurd of what was his by birthright…but I know now that you were right to pledge your crown to Harald.” She allowed herself to feel a moment of satisfaction as Strybjorn recoiled in shock, no doubt the old man expected her to argue the point further not agree with the decision he had made.

“Eivor…I…”

“You acted not out of spite but out of love for your people. You wanted to protect us from further bloodshed, I see that now…” Days spent staring at familiar shield-covered walls had granted Eivor the rare opportunity to reflect on days gone by and the choices made by others; Styrbjorn acted as he did to protect his people, Sigurd acted as he did to secure his own legacy, Basim acted as he did in pursuit of vengeance – the motivation behind the choices made were as different as the men themselves.

_My choices were motivated by honour and shame…or…they were…_

“I knew we did not have the strength to oppose Harald’s forces…” He had tried to explain to those who protested his decision that they would be destroyed if they faced Harald on the battlefield but they had not listened, believing that the Gods would protect them.

“No…his armies were unmatched…but what I do not understand is why you did not tell us? Why did you allow Sigurd to be ambushed in Harald’s hall?”

Of the many regrets that stained his life, this was the one that pierced his heart the deepest. “You are right. I owed you the truth but I feared you would not accept my judgment.” It was a fear which she knew was justified; if she and Sigurd had known that Strybjorn intended to bend the knee to this new king, they would have done everything in their power to prevent it.

“Fair. We… I… was too headstrong to understand your position, and for that I am sorry.”

The call of sleep was becoming too difficult to ignore as they lapsed into a comfortable silence. With gritted teeth and stifled groans of discomfort, she shuffled further down the bed until she was staring up at the ceilings with heavy eyes. It had been over a week since the Longship had sailed from Fornburg meaning that the Clan would have received news of her injury by now. She prayed they were not too worried for her and that they were safe, but more than anything, she prayed they did not do anything _foolish._

“Rest Eivor, we will talk more in the coming days.” Her lips twitched into a half-smile as she slipped into a light sleep, oblivious to the fondness in Styrbjorn’s eyes as he crept from the chamber.

\--

The final three days of their voyage passed in a haze of distracting worry and sickening dread which finally bubbled over as the Fjords of Norway came into view.

“A stunning view…” As their ship drew closer to the bustling port, Randvi was reminded of the journey she and her sister had made to Fornburg on the eve of her wedding to Sigurd. She had been terrified as their boat had docked but she had refused to let it show, instead of adopting an air of serenity as she was introduced to the man she would call husband. Those events seemed so far from them now…

“A view I thought lost to us yet the winds have called us home.”

This place had never been her home, not really. Even when she and Sigurd were married and she had begun to find her feet within the clan of Ravens, she had still felt a longing to journey into the wilderness in search of a place she feared she would not find.

The edge of their boat brushed against the wooden docks and she stepped ashore with legs that shook with nervous energy. She forced herself to ignore the way Harald’s soldiers looked at them and instead looked to the imposing Longhouse which dominated the skyline. This place had changed little in the time they had been away yet it felt painfully distant to her.

“Shall we?” Valka’s hand on her elbow was the only thing preventing her from sprinting through the settlement and bursting through the wooden doors of the Longhouse with Eivor’s name on her lips. It would not be wise to cause alarm to the people here, not when the majority were better armed than she.

“Valka… if she is..” Images of Eivor lying on her death bed as blood spilled from a fatal wound stole the air from her lungs and forced her to lean heavily against the woman at her side; she had forced such things from her mind during their voyage but now that she stood mere feet from her love, she could do nothing but imagine the worse.

“Come, Randvi.” It would do neither of them any good to linger on the edge of the unknown.

With steeled hearts and a final prayer to the gods on their lips, Randvi and Valka crossed the threshold of the Longhouse to be immediately confronted with a sight familiar to them both.

“You are weak-minded if you think I would share glimpses of my destiny with a milk-addled cow like you.”

Strybjorn clenched his fists as Sigurd paced before him. “You foolish boy, do you think of nothing but your own desires?”

“I have discovered my true self father! Born of Gods, is who I am!” The same words had been spoken in anger once before when Sigurd’s return from captivity had robbed the settlement of all joy and happiness. Randvi watched Styrbjorn push himself away from his seat with growing unease; should the two come to blows she feared neither would fully recover.

“Silence!” Valka’s command was answered with stunned silence as both men looked to the archway in disbelief; like with Harald, Sigurd had received no warning of their arrival.

“Randvi?” If the circumstances had been different she would have been delighted by the shocked expression on Sigurd’s face; it was not often the man was caught off-guard. Her smile was tight and forced as she clasped her hands behind her back and addressed the man who had once been her father-in-law.

“Good day King Strybjorn.” A wide grin threatened to split the man’s cheeks as he approached her with wide arms. Of all those who had left his side, her steady hand had been the one he had missed dearly.

“Gift of the Gods! Come and let me look at you!” He held her at arm’s length for a few moments before he pulled her to him in a welcome embrace that she was quick to return; the man had been kind to her when she had been left to endure two long winters without her husband and she was glad to see him well.

Valka looked around the empty Longhouse before her eyes landed on the man who hovered to the side of the chamber. “Sigurd, you are well?”

“I am, although I am surprised to see you away from your hut Valka, and you away from your maps, dear Randvi.”

The unasked question hung in the air like a dark cloud; why have you left the settlement without a leader?

“Eivor…where is she?” Understanding dawned in Sigurd’s eyes which was quickly replaced with pity and it was this pity that forced a choked sob from Randvi’s lips as she was confronted with a reality she had not dared imagine.

_No…surely she is not…she cannot be…_

“Sigurd…tell me she’s not…” Her hands shook violently as she reached for Sigurd’s shoulders, gripping tightly to the thick fabric as she pleaded with him and the Gods to say this wasn’t so.

“Peace Randvi, she lives I swear it.” The words did not register in her mind until Sigurd had repeated them several times.

“She is alive Randvi, her injury was grave but she is healing…she is alive…”

_She is alive…but she is not here…_

“Where is she?” She would not be able to think, not be able to _breathe_ until she had seen for herself that Eivor was alive and fully recovered. She looked around the Longhouse with desperate eyes and noticed for the first time just how empty the Longhouse seemed.

“Sigurd…” The man flinched as Randvi turned to him with eyes wide and lips trembling; in all the years they had been married he had never once seen her look so frantic. “Where. Is. She.”

Guilt clouded his expression as he stared back at her; in truth, he did not know. Eivor had insisted on walking through the settlement when she had woken that morning, stating that if she did not see something other than the same four walls she would impale him on her axe. He had seen the damage she could do with that weapon so had not stood in her way, but the day was now nearly over and still, she showed no signs of returning.

“She… she is…” His voice grew silent as the sound of slow, heavy footsteps reached his ears, stopping only when the individual stood in the archway of the Longhouse.

“Randvi?”

_Eivor…Gods is that you?_

Randvi felt her legs buckle at the sight of the woman she had feared she had lost leaning heavily against the wooden archway.

“Eivor…”

The silence that enveloped them both was broken only by the harshness of Eivor’s breath as she forced herself to move further into the hall with sluggish steps. Not caring that she was not alone, Randvi crossed the short space between them to grip tightly to the Drengr’s shoulders.

“Come father.” Sigurd’s smile was pensive as he observed the way Eivor’s lips lingered on Randvi’s forehead; if there was ever any doubt as to how much these two adored one another it disappeared in that moment. “Let us gather ale to warm our guests.”

Neither women reacted as Sigurd beckoned for his father to follow him, nor did they move from their embrace as Valka left their side to inspect the building's walls. Weeks of traveling the seas, of nights spent lying awake with only haunting images to keep her company – all of it ceased to matter now that Eivor was but a breath away from her.

“Randvi…my love…are you truly here?”

“I am, as are you…Gods Eivor you are _alive…”_

The woman did not realise she was crying until Eivor’s thumb hesitantly brushed away the few tears that had slipped down her cheeks. Emerald eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into Eivor’s touch with a broken whimper on her lips; the warmth of her palm against her cheek went some way to clearing the ice that had gripped her heart but she needed more.

“I…I thought you _dead…”_

Eivor’s forehead came to rest gently against Randvi’s as the two women leaned against each other. “Shhh…I am here my love… I am well I swear it.” Hearing the words softly spoken by the one she loved so completely broke through the wall holding back Randvi’s emotions, forcing the woman to pitch forward into Eivor’s waiting arms as her legs finally buckled under the weight of her relief.

The force of the other woman colliding with her caused a sliver of pain to run through her side but Eivor paid it no mind; it was a small price to pay to be able to hold the woman who had crossed the seas to find her. Gentle fingers ran through copper hair as Randvi’s grip on her shoulders tightened; the feel of the other woman’s body pressed against her own after weeks of forced separation was indescribable.

She pulled back just enough to study Eivor’s face with desperate eyes. “Vili spoke of blood spilled…” Her hand reached out to caress Eivor’s stomach but stopped just shy of making contact with the thin material.

“Only a little…” In truth, the amount of blood lost had worried Harald’s healer but Eivor would guard that fact with her life if only to save Randvi the pain of worrying for her.

“Come. Valka will want to ensure you are well.”

“You mean she wishes to inspect the work of Harald’s healer.” Eivor doubted Valka would be pleased with the care she had received from the abrupt woman who had appeared in the dead of night, but in her eyes, the treatment had been necessary.

“Of course, she has invested much in you. It would be a shame if you were to perish now from poor treatment.” Despite the humour in her words, an undertone of fear clung to her voice; Randvi had seen for herself what could happen to strong warriors when treatments were poorly carried out and the thought of Eivor leaving this life because of a dirty blade left her fearful of the coming days.

They clung to each other desperately as they crossed the Longhouse with painfully slow steps until they stepped into the chamber Eivor had called home for the last few weeks. Randvi reluctantly left Eivor’s embrace as Valka walked towards them with a knowing smile.

“Valka, you need not have come. I know you despise the rough seas.” The Seer was quick to wave Eivor’s apologies aside as she gripped the woman’s forearms tightly; it was good to see the woman standing.

“I would travel much farther for you Eivor.” Her eyes flickered to Randvi who clung to Eivor’s hand as if it were a lifeline. “As would many others.” Shy glances were exchanged between Eivor and Randvi which revealed more to Valka than words ever could.

Valka plucked at the edges of the cotton tunic Eivor wore. “This is not your usual attire Eivor.”

“Ah…my armour is being …repaired.” The sturdy leather armour had gone some way to protecting her from Basim’s blade but the material was too blood-stained to be of any use to her now, not until it was properly cleaned at least.

“And your wounds, do they trouble you?”

Her hand subconsciously drifted to her side as she remembered the sharpness of the blade that pierced her and the fire of the steel that had healed her. “A little…”

“May I see?” Randvi forced her eyes to remain locked with Eivor’s as the woman slipped the cotton tunic over her head, her frown deepening as the movement forced the Drengr to grit her teeth against the familiar stabbing pain which she had grown accustomed to. Randvi longed to reach out and touch her, to trail reassuring kisses along her brow before capturing her lips with her own but such comforts would have to wait until they were away from prying eyes.

_One day I will be able to embrace you as I desire…_

“You were healed with flame?” The Seer’s fingers gently brushed along the edges of the scorched skin as she studied Eivor’s face closely, searching for any indication of pain or discomfort. The Drengr forced herself to endure the scrutiny with a neutral expression; she would not give Randvi further cause to worry by letting slip just how tender the burnt skin was.

“Aye…but I do not remember it.” The only things she remembered clearly were Sigurd’s hand on her shoulder and the taste of bile on her lips; everything else was lost to her and for that, she was grateful. 

Fingers that had been firmly interlocked with her own disappeared as Randvi stepped closer to her side in order to see the wound more clearly.

“Randvi, you do not need- “

“Hush Eivor.” She would see for herself the cost of Basim’s betrayal no matter how much it pained her. 

“It is not as bad—” Her voice grew silent as Randvi’s palm slowly glided across the expanse of her stomach before her fingers tentatively caressed her heated skin.

The gentleness of her touch coupled with the tenderness in her emerald eyes robbed Eivor of the ability to concentrate on anything but the woman beside her. Neither noticed when Valka slipped from the room nor did they react when the thick curtain of fabric was tugged over the archway to seal them off from the world.

“Does Basim live?”

“He does…but his life will be shrouded in darkness.” An eternity spent with nothing but the visions of what he longed for most was a fate worse than death in her opinion. Randvi’s fingers slipped through the blonde hairs at the nape of Eivor’s neck to tug the woman closer.

“Good…if he were to escape justice for what he did to you – “She allowed Eivor to pull her close as her words died on her lips, whimpering as a warmth she had sorely missed surrounded over her.

“Hush Randvi…” Eivor could bear no more of this conversation. There would be time in the days ahead to speak of Basim and the harsh truths now revealed to her but for now, she desired only to take Randvi into her arms and make up for the time they had lost.

“Let us leave these matters aside…” The Drengr dipped her head as a teasing smile graced her features, her gaze flickering between emerald eyes which darkened with every second and lips parted in anticipation.

“For I have something more important to attend to…” Thoughts of betrayal slipped from their minds as Randvi surged upwards to capture Eivor’s lips in a desperate kiss.

\--

For the first time in many years, the Longhouse which dominated Fornburg was filled with the sounds of feasting, laughing, and drinking. Eivor grunted as the table she sat at shook under the weight of the raven’s mugs colliding with the wood; as happy as she was to be amongst them once more, their laughter and tales of triumph in England were beginning to melt into a cacophony of sound that only reminded her of how tired she was.

“…do you not agree my prized Drengr?”

“Hmm? Oh…forgive me I…” Sigurd shook his head as an amused huff left his lips; he had been regaling Eivor of tales of their youth for at least 10 minutes but she had not heard a word.

“You have grown soft Wolf-Kissed! The moon is barely in the sky and yet you are ready to retire for the night. What has become of my fearless warrior?”

“Perhaps I should stab you.” With a flick of her wrist, the hidden blade strapped to her forearm burst from the mechanism to glisten in the candlelight. “Then we will talk of weariness brother.” The two stared at each for a brief moment before erupting into laughter that none present could understand; how could they make light of such a traumatic event so soon after it had taken place?

Their laughter eventually died away to be replaced with content grins. “Rest then. We will talk of urgent matters in the morning.”

“Urgent matters?” Her brow furrowed as he looked to the surrounding darkness with a secretive smile. “Of what do you speak?”

“Soon Eivor.”

She slapped her hands against the wooden table before sighing in resignation; when her brother adopted this air of superiority there was no reasoning with him. Her eyes swept over the drunken raiders who had each consumed more ale than she had thought possible before landing on Randvi, who smiled back at her from her seat beside Strybjorn.

The old king had cared deeply for Randvi in the three years he had known her as his daughter-in-law so it was natural that with her return, he would wish for her company above all others, and yet Eivor could not ignore the prickle of jealousy that clung to her. Perhaps in the coming days, they would be able to act as they wished but until then, the warrior had resigned herself to waiting.

“Brother…I will lodge with the raiders tonight. Now that there are so many of us I fear we will run out of space…” She had slept in worse places and now that her wounds were nearly healed she required no special treatment.

“Nonsense. Do you think I do not see how you favour your left side to your right?” A pointed look from her Jarl silenced her attempts to reason with him.

“If you can manage the climb, the chamber above is as good as yours.” Blue eyes flickered to the ladder leading to the upstairs chamber; a chamber which had once been reserved for the Jarl and his wife.

_What are you playing at Sigurd…?_

“I…I cannot.”

“Yes.” Rough fingers gripped her arm tightly as she turned to face him. “You can.” He waited patiently for Eivor to grasp the meaning behind what he offered, smiling softly when her eyes widened with understanding and her cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

“Sigurd I…”

His gaze drifted to Randvi. “She travelled across the oceans to be by your side Eivor, something that I do not think she would have done for me, nor I for her. That is a rare thing. I would be a fool to let my hurt pride stand in the way of what you and she share.” His grip tightened a fraction before he withdrew completely with a playful wink.

“Now go, before you fall asleep in your mead.” 

“Good night brother…thank you.” The words sounded hollow on her tongue; there was nothing she could say that would convey the depth of her gratitude for his blessing.

Randvi, who had been half-listening to Styrbjorn’s reports on the neighboring settlements watched Eivor climb the ladder with concern clouding her mind; despite the woman’s assurances that she was well, Eivor’s shoulders were slumped with exhaustion and her steps were sluggish.

_I wonder when you last slept peacefully…Snotinghamscire perhaps?_

“Randvi…” Styrbjorn’s hand at her elbow drew her attention away from the Drengr who had disappeared into the rafters.

“You have told me of your great gains in England but what of the people. Are they safe? Happy?”

“They are Lord.” She hoped they were at least. She had heard no murmurings of discontent amongst their people but, as was often the case, not hearing talk of displeasure did not mean it did not exist.

“Our numbers grow with each passing winter and soon we will burst our banks.”

“Good…that is good.” Many long nights had been spent wondering about those who had left his side; whether they regretted their decisions, whether they missed the shores of Norway – knowing that his worries were unfounded should have left him reassured but instead, he felt a tinge of regret.

_Would you have flourished under my gaze if I had joined you or would my presence have only hindered you…_

“You need not worry for us Lord, under Eivor and Sigurd’s guidance we are well protected against our enemies.”

“This pleases me, dear Randvi. To know my people are cared for lessons the sting of your leaving.” A roar of laughter interrupted his reflections as he watched Vili chase the man known as Rollo out into the blistering cold. When he had last seen the towering giant that was the son of Heming Jarl he had been but a twig, a sapling growing in the shade of his father.

“And you Randvi? Are you happy?” Emerald eyes dimmed as the woman reflected on all that had come to pass; alliances won, battles forged, friends lost – England had taken from them as much as it had given them but yes, as her eyes drifted to the chamber above them, she believed she was finally happy.

“I am and despite all that has happened, I find myself longing for the familiar shores that we now call our home.”

“And my son? Does he treat you as you deserve?” 

Randvi hid her grimace of displeasure behind the lip of her mug as she glared at an oblivious Sigurd.

_You have not told him have you Sigurd…_

“Lord…” She had never planned on having this conversation, naively believing that the decision of the son would not need to be approved by the father who sat on an empty throne across the seas.

“I must tell you that Sigurd and I have dissolved our marriage.” She watched with bated breath as Styrbjorn glared at his son, his hands gripping the mug of ale tightly as he absorbed the news which had been a long time coming although he had not wanted to accept it.

“I…I am not surprised. My son has always been consumed with his own well-being, never once caring for the happiness of those who surround him.” Styrbjorn’s assessment was unfair and unjustified but she made no move to interrupt; the man’s opinion of his son was not something she could change in the space of one evening.

“Is this why you have returned to Norway? To sever your bonds to my clan entirely?”

“No Lord.” The thought had once crossed her mind but she had banished it immediately; she did not seek to sever her bonds, she sought to strengthen them.

“The Raven Clan is mine as much as I am theirs.” Strybjorn need only look around at the raiders to see how true that statement was.

Silence filled the air until he turned to face her more directly as reflected on their first meeting. “Do you know why I agreed when your father offered your hand to my son?” She had assumed it was purely to unite their warring clans but Styrbjorn’s smile suggested there was another, more personal reason.

“I approved because I saw in you virtues that I did not see in my son; pragmatism, wisdom, a keen eye for strategy - all things I knew the Clan would need in the coming years.”

“I…” In the early days of their marriage, when her husband had stumbled into their chamber after a night of drinking with only one thought on his mind, she had believed her only purpose was to produce an heir. To hear now that the union had been agreed on her intelligence, rather than her ability to bear children forced her to look away as tears welled in her eyes.

_How many years have I spent questioning my own self-worth when I did not need to…?_

Strybjorn patted her hand affectionately as he looked to another matter which worried him. “Were the two of you ever happy? Or did I misjudge my son so poorly that I condemned you to a life of misery?”

The woman stared into her mug of ale as she looked back over the years of their marriage; there had been moments however brief when she and Sigurd had been happy enough, but those moments to her were like stars on a clouded night; only rarely did they break through the encroaching darkness but when they did, their light was seen by all those who looked upon them.

“I do not regret the years spent together Lord. If not for our union, I would not have found that which makes me happy beyond all measure.”

Styrbjorn did not need to ask who she had found her happiness with; the answer was as clear to him as anything he had ever known. Memories of cruel words said to the woman who now lay asleep above him wracked his heart with guilt; had he known how deeply Eivor’s love for her people ran he would never have treated her as he did.

“Does she treat you as you deserve?”

She felt her cheeks warm as she recalled days spent by Eivor’s side and nights spent in her arms. “She does. I have never known anything but kindness and respect from her.” Even before they had confessed their feelings at the sunken tower Eivor had been a trusted friend and confidant.

“I am both honoured to love her and to be loved by her.”

He nodded in acceptance before looking to the far archway and the darkness kept at bay only by candlelight.

“I told her once I doubted she had a heart at all…I believed her reckless…foolish…”

To hear this man who she had long admired speak so harshly of one who had sacrificed so much of herself for her people sparked a surge of protectiveness in Randvi’s heart.

Her words were short and to the point as she addressed the matter now put before her. “She is neither of those things Lord.” Strybjorn was too lost in his memories to hear Randvi speak in Eivor’s defense. She gripped the edge of the table tighter as Strybjorn pressed on, oblivious to her growing disgust.

“I thought she was consumed by a lust for revenge, putting her own pursuit of fame above the welfare of her clan…”

_You blind fool…nothing could be further from the truth…_

“I did not see in her the Daughter of Rosta and Varin. I saw only a woman who held tightly to honour and glory and rejected anything else…perhaps, if I had taken the time to speak plainly with her, I would have understood _why_ she had clung to such things…” His voice became lost in the din of feasting and drinking as he reflected on his failures, failings which only now were revealed to him.

“I…should have done better by her…if I had, maybe her path would not have followed that of her brother’s so closely…”

“You are wrong Lord.”

Whatever similarities the two siblings shared had vanished long ago; where Sigurd had pursued glory for himself, Eivor had pursued safety for their people, where he had been consumed by visions of the divine, she had been consumed with defeating those who threatened their existence, when he had forsaken the role of Jarl, she had accepted its burdens.

“Their paths diverged long ago…”

\--

The final hour of the feast passed slowly for those who longed to be elsewhere until finally, Randvi stood at the base of the ladder that would lead her to what had once been her marital bed, only now it was occupied by the only one she considered worthy to be by her side.

Her hands clung to the wooden steps as she hauled herself upwards until she stepped onto the edge of the landing and looked around the darkened chamber. Like the Longhouse, the chamber had remained untouched since she had hastily packed her belongings before leaving for England; it was almost as if she had never left.

The air was still and silent save the distant sounds of the raiders making their way to the docks with songs on their lips and laughter in their lungs.

_There will be sore heads tomorrow…_

An evening of feasting had been well overdue for the men and women who had spent more time at sea than was fair, she only wished Eivor had felt well enough to celebrate with them. Thoughts of her love drew her attention to the bed she had once shared with Sigurd and her breath stilled at the sight before her.

“Eivor?” Randvi crossed the space between them to kneel before the woman who looked to be a million miles away.

The Drengr’s gaze remained on the axe held tightly in her grasp, her attention fixed on the way the moonlight glistened on the blade as she turned it back and forth in her hands.

“Darling…come back to me.” The hesitant brush of fingertips against her cheek pulled Eivor back from thoughts she had not meant to become lost in and she looked around the darkened room as if forgetting where she was.

Randvi’s sigh of affection ruffled the loose strands of blonde hair that had escaped from their braid. “There you are…” Words whispered in relief were accompanied by the sweep of Randvi’s thumb across her heated skin.

“Randvi?” The woman nodded as she trailed her fingers down the scar that adorned Eivor’s cheek until her thumb brushed against her bottom lip.

“I am here my love.” She would always be here.

“I am sorry.” Her apology struck like a blade to Randvi’s heart. “I…I got lost…”

Memories of past agonies; of huts set alight and acrid smoke burning the air had assaulted her the moment she had escaped from the feast, leaving her to stumble through the dark and collapse onto a bed that was not her own before surrendering herself to memories she had no desire to relive.

“I understand Eivor, it is alright.” Eivor turned her head enough to place a lingering kiss against Randvi’s palm which made the woman’s heart skip a beat; she would never have believed when they were first introduced how affectionate the Drengr could be.

“Still, I apologise if I worried you.”

“I will always worry for you, and you for me. Such is the nature of our lives.” Randvi would endure every sleepless night, every day spent with worry as her companion if it meant she could spend a single second in Eivor’s embrace and as calloused fingers slipped through tousled auburn hair, she knew the Drengr felt exactly the same.

“Come to me…” The command was eagerly followed as Randvi tilted her head just enough to brush her lips against Eivor’s, sighing softly as the Drengr tugged her closer. Her actions were rewarded with a firm hand tangling in the soft hair at the nape of her neck, fingertips lazily playing with the loose blonde strands as Randvi pulled back just enough to draw in a shaky breath.

“Are you not tired?” She had watched with barely concealed concern as Eivor’s shoulders had grown heavier throughout the evening until finally, she had disappeared from the chamber to claim the rest she had deserved, or so she thought.

“I am but I wished to wait for you. We have endured so much my love.” Gentle fingers reached down to tuck a stray hand of fiery hair behind Randvi’s ear.

“I did not want to endure another night without you in my arms.” Randvi did not think it were possible for her to fall deeper in love with this woman and yet here she sat, awestruck and dizzy with yearning. Her stunned silence stretched out in front of them and lit a spark of doubt in Eivor’s mind; had she spoken too honestly? Had her words instilled fear in Randvi’s heart instead of love? Anxious fingers gripped the furs under her tightly as she grappled with this fear which she knew had no purchase but was impossible to ignore.

“I…should not have presumed. Forgive me Randvi, I will sleep elsewhere.” The words burst from Eivor’s lips to snap Randvi out of her stupor.

“Do not give life to that thought my love, I need you right where you are.” The hesitant smile they shared left them both shivering with anticipation for the moments that now lay before them.

“Randvi…” Her name whispered by Eivor’s sultry voice sent a shockwave racing through her and set fire to every nerve in her body, but before she could act on the desire that threatened to overwhelm her senses, a loud snore from the far corners of the chamber below shattered the spell that had surrounded them.

Emerald eyes locked with ice blue for a brief moment before they collapsed against each other as their shoulders shook with laughter; it seemed snoring like a wounded animal ran in the family.

“Soon…” Their laughter dissipated to be replaced with a heavy longing which clouded their thoughts and sharpened their senses.

“When we do not have an audience.” They shared a smile that spoke of mutual frustration but also acceptance. Heavy gulps of air did little to rid her body of the need that pulsed through her veins but Randvi was determined to supress every urge, every desire if only so she did not make a fool of herself in front of Sigurd and Styrbjorn.

“We should rest. The hour is late and there is a chill in the air that is now unpleasant.” Her words caused Eivor to reach for the single candle that flickered pathetically by the bedside before she approached the neglected hearth that lay dormant on the other side of the chamber. Randvi waited impatiently for the fire to catch until the chamber was slowly illuminated by crackling flames.

As the flames grew brighter and the warmth she had craved began to settle over them both, Eivor reached out her hand to pull her love close.

“Is that better?” Randvi leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss against the corner of Eivor’s mouth, grinning when the woman chased her lips as she withdrew. She was reminded of a time when she and Sigurd had shared a similar conversation, only his suggestion had involved them taking to their marital bed; a suggestion she had resented but had felt obliged to comply with.

“Yes, thank you Eivor.”

Eivor grinned like a love-struck fool as Randvi interlocked their fingers before tugging her towards the bed, only letting go so she could reach for the clasps of her cloak.

“May I?” Emerald eyes grew heavy with longing as she felt confident fingers gently tug the heavy fabric of her cloak from her shoulders before undoing the clasps of the jewellery at her neck. Her breath hitched as those same hands brushed down her shoulders and arms before resting on the leather belts at her waist. Her eyes closed as she felt the leather fall from her hips before she kicked the belts over to the far corner. More of the turquoise clothing slipped from her body to pool at her feet until only a simple, cotton tunic remained.

“Eivor… darling…” She let her head fall back against Eivor’s shoulders as the Drengr pressed herself tighter. Broken whimpers filled the chamber as Eivor trailed gentle, lingering kisses across the top of Randvi’s shoulders and neck as she toyed with the hem of the tunic.

“I fear I will die if you do not touch me, my love…”

Eivor’s lips curled into a smug grin as Randvi clung to her desperately. Her hands shook as they slowly glided over cotton-covered hips and stomach, her touch becoming firmer as Randvi’s breath grew heavier with each passing second.

“Am I not touching you now?” A whimper of displeasure was the only answer she received.

“No…you are torturing me.” It took every ounce of strength the strategist possessed to reach up and still the hands that were mere inches away from brushing against her breasts; if she allowed Eivor to continue she feared the entire settlement would be awoken by her desperate cries of pleasure.

Shaking hands pressed tightly against her own snapped Eivor out of her lust-induced state long enough for her to place a soft, apologetic kiss on Randvi’s cheek.

“Forgive me…I got away from myself.”

Randvi turned in Eivor’s embrace to slip her arms around the woman’s waist before tucking her nose into the blonde’s neck, breathing deeply as she waited for her heart to slow. “Soon.” Her breath against her skin caused Eivor’s grip to tighten as blue eyes grew darker. “By all the Gods I will have you soon.”

They remained in each other’s arms for a few moments longer with nothing but the crackling of embers and the thrumming of their hearts to fill the silence until eventually, arms which had been taut with desire slackened as exhaustion struck them both. They rid themselves of their final layers before slipping beneath the cold furs and clinging to each other tightly as the warmth of the fire slowly filled the chamber.

Eivor sighed contently as she pulled Randvi tightly to her side, the woman’s auburn hair tickling her nose and surrounding her in the scent of Lavender and sea-salt. This was everything she had ever wanted; no longer would she hunger for battle or riches, she would seek only to keep and protect what she had been gifted by the Gods.

Randvi’s eyes grew heavier as tired fingers slowly plucked at the leather straps of her braid until flowing locks tumbled down her shoulder; to think that she had once denied herself this feeling for the sake of misplaced duty almost made her laugh. As quickly as her amusement was stirred, it vanished as she reflected on the conversation between she and Styrbjorn.

“Eivor?”

The blonde had been moments away from slipping into what promised to be a blissful sleep when her name was whispered into the darkness.

“Mhm?”

“Styrbjorn knows…about us…” She had expected Eivor to leap from the bed at this news to then pace up and down with eyes locked to the chambers below but instead, the arm around her tightened and a soft kiss was placed into her hair.

“As does Sigurd.”

Emerald eyes grew wide in surprise. She had thought they had done well to keep their feelings secret and yet the most oblivious of their clan now knew the truth.

“Sigurd? How?” Perhaps Eivor had pulled him to one side to break the news or perhaps…

“He guessed.”

“Guessed?”

“Mhm.” Eivor’s brow furrowed in playful annoyance as Randvi’s stunned laughter shook her frame; had this woman not been the one to push her to get some rest?

“Gods, who else knows?” Randvi was beginning to suspect that their relationship was the worst kept secret in England, something that bothered the politician more than she cared to admit.

“S’more like who doesn’t know love…” The Drengr’s voice became deeper and more fractured as she felt her grip on consciousness slip from her grasp and hurtling her towards the realm of sleep at an alarming rate. 

For Randvi however, this startling revelation left her giddy with excitement; if everyone knew about her love for the woman who lay beside her then she had no further reason to hide it. Long suppressed hopes of a life spent at her side rushed to the forefront of her mind and she could not resist pressing her lips to Eivor’s as relief surged through her.

Using what little strength she had left, the Drengr tightened her hold on Randvi and pressed her lips to her forehead. “G’to sleep wife…” Eivor’s grip slackened as she lost her battle with the waking world but Randvi was to astonished to notice; to hear Eivor refer to her with this term of endearment left her shaking with barely contained desire. The word itself had never held any emotional attachment for her, but then she had never been called wife by someone who she knew loved her deeply.

_Wife…you are my wife in all but name and I would rectify that in a heartbeat…_

She pressed herself deeper into Eivor’s arms and kissed the warm skin beneath her lips a final time.

_Goodnight my love… my wife…_

\--

The only thing Eivor could see as she fell to her knees was death. The screams of the dying rang painfully clear as she could only watch as Kjotve’s clan cut through the last remaining raiders who had tried to defend the Longhouse. Her eyes stung as the smoke from the burning buildings stained the air, making it impossible for her to see anything clearly.

Forcing herself to stand once more, she stumbled blindly through the ash and smoke as violent coughs wracked her frame.

“If I give my life, will you spare my clan?” Her father’s voice rose above the sounds of battle to pierce her heart like an arrow. He was here somewhere, hidden within the smoke and rubble of the once-bustling town yet no matter how hard she tried, she could not find him. She tried to follow the sound of his voice but he seemed to be moving further away with every step forward she took.

“Father!”

“You have my word.” Knowing that the Oath-Breaker was infuriatingly close filled her with a burning rage that was only matched by the flaming cinders that surrounded her.

“He lies! Father do not listen!” She tried to run towards the shadow of what she assumed was the kneeling form of father, only for her to be pulled down by an invisible force as her mother’s voice rose to match her own.

“No Varin! Pick up your axe!”

Shaking hands wrestled with the mud that held her in place just as Kjotve lifted his axe to the darkened sky. There was nothing she could do to stop this; her father’s death was inevitable, Kjotve’s betrayal was inevitable. She had lived through every second of this and yet still she screamed into the night.

_“Father!”_

Eyes that were filled with terror snapped open as a strangled gasp for air burst from oxygen-deprived lungs. She pushed herself upwards to lean back on her hands as she searched the darkness for any sign of the Oath-Breaker or her father, collapsing back against the straw mattress when she saw nothing. Sweat clung to her brow as her chest heaved violently; she had thought she had seen the last of these childish night terrors but as she covered her eyes in a desperate attempt to ride herself of the images of the past she realised there were some things that could never be outgrown.

_Gods will this torment never cease…_

She reached blindly for her axe in a desperate attempt to feel some semblance of safety only for her fingers to encounter something warmer, something far softer than the familiar cold steel.

Her fingers followed the curvature of Randvi’s spine as she marveled at how delicate the woman appeared to be, not true of course, she had seen for herself how deadly she could be with a war hammer in her grasp. Memories of past outings that had inevitably ended in bloodshed forced visions of Kjotve from her mind as her hand dropped to the empty space between them.

As she stared into the invading darkness she was struck with a desperate longing to wake the woman beside her and speak plainly of her darkest fears but as quickly as the urge swelled within her it dissipated; these visions of death, of oaths broken and families destroyed, were her burden to bear. She would not force one so dear to her to suffer that which she had suffered.

She froze as the woman who had consumed her thoughts rolled to face her and for one brief, guilt-ridden moment Eivor worried that her gasps for air had woken her. She held her breath as she waited for Randvi’s voice to cut through the silence but instead her love pressed herself into Eivor’s side, her hand resting heavily over her healed wounds before slipping further into sleep.

The Drengr did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed that the woman had not woken. As she ran her fingers up and down Randvi’s back she looked to the ceiling once more; if she ever hoped to sleep peacefully again she would have to reconcile herself with her parent’s death, no matter how painful the act would be.

\--

Sunlight streaming through the cracks in the wooden tiles landed on Eivor’s face and dragged the Drengr from her sleep with a grumble of annoyance. It felt like she had only just fallen back to sleep after staring into the darkness for half the night but she knew that likely wasn’t the case. Her fingers reached blindly for the woman at her side, her eyes fluttering open as she encountered nothing but cold sheets.

“Randvi?” No response was given in the stifling silence but she would not allow herself to worry, not until she had cause to do so. Throwing the furs aside, she quickly pulled her tunic, bracers, and boots on before peering over the railings that separated their chamber from the open air.

A relieved smile appeared on her face as she spotted the familiar green robes and red hair lingering beside a map she had once guarded so closely.

_There you are Randvi, I wondered when you would return to your maps…_

Slipping her axe into the leather loop of her belt and looking around the chamber a final time, she carefully climbed down the ladder to stand in the once-bustling hall; her clan had clearly thrown a feast for the ages judging by the abandoned meat, fruit and half-empty mead cups that littered the tables.

_This mess reminds me of the feast we held for Vili…_

As she stepped over the unconscious form of Birna who clung to an empty mead barrel as if it were a lover, she was struck by a fierce longing to return to England’s shores that were now more familiar to her than the lands of her birth.

_Soon…but first there are matters to attend to…_

“Good day my love.”

Eivor’s arms were quick to wrap themselves around Randvi’s waist and she wasted no time in pulling her flush against her as hungry lips latched onto the tender skin of her neck. As Randvi’s knees buckled at the wave of pleasure Eivor’s touch induced, the Drengr was struck with an overwhelming desire to ensure every new day began in this manner.

Randvi weakly batted at the arms that cradled her so tenderly until Eivor’s grip slackened enough for her to turn in her embrace.

“You were not by my side when I awoke. Is something wrong?” Randvi’s response was a deep kiss that left Eivor breathless. As much as she had wished to remain in their bed, counting down the moments until she could drag Eivor from her sleep with loving kisses and gentle caresses, there were matters she had wished to see to.

“No, nothing. But you do snore a little.”

Eivor rolled her eyes at the obvious attempt to rile her. “Like a wounded bear, you have told me so before.” 

With restraint borne from years spent living under Styrbjorn’s heel, she allowed Randvi to remove herself completely from her arms to return her attention to the map laid out before them. 

“You left our bed for a map?” Cheeks burned with embarrassment when faced with this ridiculous truth but unlike in the past, when comments made about her obsession with ancient papers had offended her, Randvi turned to Eivor with a smug grin.

“Does that infuriate you, darling?”

Anything that could lure Randvi from their bed was to be considered an enemy of the warrior who grumbled petulantly. “It does.”

Laughter ran through the empty chamber as both women moved to study the landscape of Harald’s kingdom.

“It seems Harald has unified all of the Northern Realms apart from Hlutrholt.” Randvi remembered the small stretch of land well, she and her sister had explored the island on their way home from the wedding negotiations conducted in Fornburg.

“Such a tiny island…do we know why they resist?”

“We do not.” This lack of information infuriated Randvi and amused Eivor; if there was one thing Randvi hated more than anything it was not being able to understand the political motivations of another.

As Randvi fiddled with a roll of parchment she had found, Eivor allowed her fingers to trace the shorelines of Rygjafklke. She smiled as her fingertips glided over Haervik Shipyard before moving along the western coast until she encountered a familiar port side town which wrenched the breath from her lungs and left her gripping the table tightly for support.

Randvi, as if sensing her distress appeared at Eivor’s side in an instant. “What is it?” She looked from Eivor’s dejected expression to the part of the map her fingers hovered over as her heart sank.

 _Heillboer …_ _oh my love…_

Every clan in Norway had heard of the massacre that had taken place at Heilboer, but it was not until Sigurd had pulled her aside to share their clan’s history that she realised the personal connection her new family had with the tragedy.

“I…should go…see what has become of this place.” Despite her words, Eivor could not tear her eyes away from the map. To do so would force her down a path of personal reflection she feared she was not strong enough to walk.

Randvi’s heart broke for the woman who had endured so much in her short life; she wished more than anything that she could somehow ease her pain but she knew no words or deeds could undo the events of the past.

She stepped closer and fiddled with the edge of Eivor’s tunic as the woman’s breath grew heavier the longer she reflected on what she must do. “Would you…would you accompany me?”

“Of course.” She would follow Eivor to the ends of the known world if it meant the burdens she carried were made just a tiny bit lighter. “We will go today if you are strong enough?” Her hand brushed against her stomach as she reflected on her barely healed injury; if she were able she would not allow Eivor to leave their bed until all traces of her wound had disappeared from her skin.

Eivor doubted she would ever be strong enough to face the demons of her childhood, but face them she must. She turned to Randvi with a grateful expression before she cradled the hand that was pressed against her stomach and brought it tenderly to her lips.

“I am … or I hope to be…”

\--

Sigurd’s voice was heavy with disbelief as he trailed after Eivor and Randvi, flinching away from the falling snow that slipped beneath the thin spaces of his clothes to soak his skin. “But why now Eivor?”

She had known Sigurd would not approve of her plan but she had not expected so much resistance. “It must be now.” Her eyes became fixed on a chestnut brown mare that stood patiently in the stables, meaning that she did not see the exasperated expression her brother made at her response. He had hoped that the morning would be spent attending to matters of great importance but instead, it now looked as though he would be spending his days looking across the frozen landscape for signs of their return.

He gripped the edge of his cloak and tugged it tighter around him as a bitter wind rippled through the settlement; he did not remember it being so damn cold. “At least wait until this storm passes?” The irony of his words was not lost on either of them. He glared at the snowflakes which seemed to grow heavier with every passing second as he silently prayed that she would reconsider if only to save her from the turmoil he knew to be waiting for her.

“No, I must do this Sigurd.” If she did not make the trip now she feared she never would. Even now, as she secured the rations she had purchased from the local shopkeep to her saddle, she could feel her resolved dwindling.

“You baffle me Wolf-Kissed. You have not set foot on those cursed lands since we were children, why do you desire to do so now?” He ignored the look of warning Randvi sent him as he pursued the matter further until finally, Eivor snapped.

“Because I saw them!” Her words were full of anguish as she turned to face the man who had unknowingly dragged her down this road. “I have seen them every night since …since we…” Her eyes which had glistened with remorse took on a familiar distance as she looked to the seas that had brought her here; every night the same dream, every morning she awoke with the same terror. She had only a moment to brace herself before Sigurd wrapped his hand around her neck and pulled her forward so their foreheads rested against each other.

“I know, I know Eivor.” Similar visions had haunted his nights as well; Fulke, Basim, Eivor, they had all appeared before him to cast judgment on the man he had become.

“Go. Make peace with the ghosts that linger in these lands. But first…” His fingers gripped the cloak that rested around her shoulders as he cast a scrutinising eye over her appearance. “Find something warmer for you both, I have no use for a Drengr with ice for eyes.”

He waited until Eivor had slipped from his arms to disappear into the Longhouse before turning to Randvi who looked utterly broken at what she had witnessed. She had known for some time that the things Eivor and Sigurd had seen continued to weigh heavily on them both, but she had not known that her love had been plagued by night terrors.

_Why did you not wake me love…_

“Randvi I—”

His head snapped back violently as Randvi’s hand collided with his cheek. A grunt of discomfort slipped unhindered from his lips as the woman he had once called wife stepped back with shock written on her face; in all the years they had been married she had never once raised her hand to him no matter how badly she had sometimes wished to. It was only now when confronted with the sight of Eivor clinging to her brother as she was wracked with pain and guilt, that she had let herself inflict a fraction of the pain Sigurd had caused them.

“Gods woman!” He had led countless men into battles and stormed the strongholds of Saxon castles without batting an eye, but as Randvi approached him with a quiet fury, he could not help but feel afraid.

“What happened in Gungnir?” Eivor had refused to speak of the events that had taken place on that northern rock despite Randvi’s gentle urgings but it was clear something of great significance had happened there.

Her eyes lingered on the cheek she had struck, noting with grim satisfaction how it had already begun to burn brightly.

_Good…I am tired of your actions hurting those closest to you…_

“Has Eivor said nothing?”

“No…I fear she does not know how to speak of that place. Please Sigurd, what happened?”

Sigurd looked around before taking Randvi’s hand and leading her away from the bustling shoreline.

“Our journey led us to a cavern of great wonders which revealed to me my true self, but as for what it revealed to Eivor I cannot say.” He dearly wished that he was able to offer some comfort to the woman who looked to him for answers but he had none to offer. He looked to the road which would lead them out of Fornburg before hesitantly reaching for Randvi’s hand and squeezing gently.

“She will speak of those events when she is ready, have no doubt.” Her eyes slipped closed as she breathed deeply; it was not her place to force Sigurd to share their secrets no matter how much it pained her to be kept in the dark. She would wait for however long was necessary.

“Randvi, have a care with Eivor today.”

She was tempted to strike him again for his words but any fight she had left vanished when she saw Eivor approach with arms laden with thick furs.

“Of course.”

\--

Randvi tightened her grip around Eivor’s waist as the wind wiped against her cheeks.

“Are you sure you know the way?” They had been riding for what felt like hours through snowdrifts and ice-tipped trees but still, they were no closer to reaching the Portside town of Heillboer.

Eivor looked around at the frozen fjords with a sense of unease growing in her chest. “I…I believe so.” She could vaguely recall travelling through woods such as these when she was a child, but her certainty had given way to concern when the trees had only become thicker the further West they travelled.

A violent shiver rippling through the furs draped around Randvi’s frame made the woman bury her face into Eivor’s shoulders. She would not complain about the cold, nor would she give voice to her fears that they were lost; if they must travel through these woods for the remainder of the year they would do so.

“We should turn back, perhaps this was a mistake.” Eivor shifted the reigns to her left hand so she could caress Randvi’s wrist lovingly as the weather worsened; the last thing she wanted was for the woman at her back to become ill due to her foolish behaviour.

“No, we press on.” Frostbitten lips caressed the sensitive skin of Eivor’s neck before pointing into the distance. “Look, the path ahead looks to be clearer.” The Drengr urged her mount towards the path pointed out to her, grimacing as sharp branches snagged against her cloak. They continued on in silence until they heard the familiar sound of water lapping at the shoreline.

“There…what is that?” Blue eyes followed Randvi’s outstretched hand as she pointed towards the trees; whatever it was seemed large, almost as if it were a structure of some kind…

Eivor pulled on the reigns tightly as the tops of her father’s Longhouse came into view; a sight which left her stunned and afraid.

“Home. Or…it was once.” Randvi fell silent as she waited for Eivor to say more; every clan in Norway had heard of what happened here but she had never laid eyes on the abandoned town, not until now.

Eivor’s breaths became heavy as she was assaulted by memories of fire and death, her eyes stinging against acrid smoke which had long since dissipated into the air.

“Gunnar told me once that Kjotve’s men appeared through the trees like snakes in the grass…” The man had been too cowardly to attack them by the river; if he had her father’s scouts would have raised the alarm sooner and they would have stood a chance.

_Coward…had we known of the attack would we have triumphed?_

She gripped the reigns and turned her mount away from the thinning trees; she was determined to walk these once familiar lands but she would not follow the footsteps of Kjotve’s men.

“There is a harbor just beyond those trees…I used to fish there…”

“Did you catch anything?” Eivor was an exceptional warrior and hunter but she was a terrible fisherman.

Eivor’s shoulder shook with silent laughter as she remembered how her father had despaired at the empty fishing lines. “No, I was not as lucky as others.”

They continued on in silence until the snow under their feet was replaced with pebbles that had become slick with sea-water. The two slipped from the horse and surveyed the surrounding fjords and open seas; it was a beautiful sight, one Randvi wished she could enjoy better.

Randvi forced herself to hold back as she watched Eivor approach a beached longship adorned with burgundy shields, her eyes watching the ruined sail flutter in the winds.

_Her father’s ship or one of Kjotve’s…the wood is too damaged to know for certain…_

“My father used to take me out on the waters with this boat…we sailed across the river to that island once…” The wind ruffled the loose strands of her braid and if she closed her eyes, she could almost believe she was 6 winters old again, leaning against the mast as her father held her tight.

“A fine vessel.” She opened her eyes as the fabric of Randvi’ cloak brushed against her fingers. “Gudron would be jealous.” Eivor frowned as she searched the wellspring of her memory; had Gudron been a member of her father’s clan or had she joined them years later? Faces she had once known so well now appeared as blurs in her mind’s eye.

“Come, my love, let us lay to rest these dark spirits that plague your heart and mind.” The high wooden walls that had once guarded them had long since crumbled into rubble save the intricate archway that still towered over them.

“What is that?” Randvi reached for a scrap of weathered paper that was nailed to the wooden beam before reading it silently to herself.

_Warning_

_Dark deeds have stained these blood-drenched grounds, fit only for life-cursed Drengr and other fell things._

“Holger.” She could not help but lean into Eivor’s side as the woman read the words over her shoulder. “His words I think.”

“A fitting tribute to what happened here.” She secured the note back in its original place before gripping Eivor’s hand tightly and walking through the tangled mess of overgrown shrubbery and overhanging trees; it seemed the surrounding wilderness had reclaimed the town for its own in the years since they had left.

“This place…nothing but bone.” A prickle of shame worked its way up Eivor’s spine to rest heavily on her brow as she looked to the derelict buildings that had once stood strong against the elements. She tightened her grip on Randvi’s hand as she spotted a familiar sword and helmet submerged in the mud beside the once-proud statue of Odin.

“This is where Father and Mother left this world. I would have died with them if not for Sigurd.” If Sigurd had not been there that night, if he had not slain the man who had tried to drag her away or pulled her onto his horse…she did not dare imagine what could have happened.

Eyes which were heavy with grief slammed shut as her mother’s voice screaming for her father to pick up his axe echoed through the years; she had sounded so terrified, so angry.

“I blamed him for so long Randvi…” She kept her eyes tightly shut as she spoke, too afraid that if she opened them she would be back in the midst of Helheim. “I _hated_ him for so many years.”

She flinched as a gentle hand brushed against the scared tissue of her neck and she forced herself to look back into eyes that glistened with sorrow and concern.

“I know Eivor.” She brushed her lips against Eivor’s in a delicate kiss. “I know you did…”

_I should have honoured his sacrifice…_

Eivor did not know where the thought had come from but it left her breathless with despair; the events of Gungnir had opened her eyes to her own failings but to stand before the physical reminder of what she had lost brought those failings to life. She stared unseeing at the helmet for a moment longer before looking to what had once been the stables.

“Mother…” Randvi’s hand slipped from her grip as she walked with growing unease towards the ruined building, her frown deepening when she saw the weapon that had once weighed more than herself still lodged in the wooden frame.

“If I had followed your orders…would you have lived? Would you and father have triumphed?”

“Eivor…please my love…” Randvi wanted nothing more than to bundle Eivor in thick furs and carry her away from this place but instead, she could do nothing but follow the woman as she explored what had once been her home. She watched with rising concern as Eivor gripped the hilt of the sword with both hands and yanked it free from the wood with a grunt of effort.

“I could not pick this weapon up when I had need of it. I remember dragging it across the ground…but now it is lighter than air.” Emerald eyes widened as Eivor ran the tip of her finger along the edge of the blade, barely flinching as the steel nicked her skin.

“Eivor!” The weapon was wrenched from her grasp and returned to its previous resting place before Randvi cradled Eivor’s hand gently and inspected the small cut that had already stopped bleeding. The Drengr could only stare as Randvi brought her hand to her mouth and kissed the wound gently, her lips soothing the sting both in her finger and in her heart.

“I…I have worried you, forgive me. I did not mean to.” A cold hand cupped her cheek tightly as Randvi stared unflinchingly up at her.

“I cannot imagine how you must feel standing here in this place, but please… _please_ do not stray too far from my side…”

_Do not become lost in your memories…if you do, I fear I may lose you …_

“Never.” Eivor’s hand reached up to cover hers before she brought them both to her lips. “My thoughts are tied to this place for now, but my heart will always return to you.”

They continued exploring the barren lands for what felt like an age until the only building that remained unchecked loomed before them. Eyes that were used to finding points of entry looked over the sealed doors and crumbling roof tiles until they spotted a familiar wooden cage.

“There…a way in.” Randvi, who had spent the last few minutes blowing on her frozen hands in a vain attempt to restore her circulation frowned up at the skyline.

“You expect us to climb?”

“I have seen you scale towers in soaking furs, a Longhouse should be easy enough for a wildling of the open air.” Her voice was light as she teased the woman at her side before she gripped the overhanging arch and hauled herself atop the wooden roof to begin the slow ascent. With a prayer to Tyr on her lips, Randvi followed suit, careful to avoid the roof tiles which crumbled under her fingertips. Thankfully the Longhouse was not as tall as the sunken tower and soon they stood atop the building with smiles wide and breaths heavy with exertion.

“I used to love climbing up here. Made me feel as high as a raven.”

“It is a stunning view.” Randvi had not seen views like these since she had been a child climbing the hills on the boundaries of her father’s lands; the sight left her longing to return to her own childhood home.

The sound of wood splintering brought her attention to Eivor who had kicked through the lattice of wood guarding the entrance to the opening.

“Father built this to stop me climbing through the rafters.”

“It did not work I take it?” A cocky grin was the only answer she received before Eivor disappeared from view; nothing could stop the woman from achieving that which she fixed her sights on, not even when she had been a child.

The sunlight which had blinded them as they had climbed the structure disappeared the moment they dropped to the floor of the hall. Eivor’s vision swam as her feet collided with the wooden floor, her knees buckling as the dull pain she had ignored all morning magnified and forced her to reach blindly for Randvi’s arm.

“Eivor? Gods, what is it?” Randvi gripped Eivor’s hand tightly as she waited with rising fear for the woman to look at her, which she did so a few seconds later.

“It is nothing, I am fi—” She silenced her own words as she felt Randvi’s hold on her lighten. She had once sworn not to keep secrets from this woman and yet here she was moments away from lying to her once more.

_No more lies…I will keep nothing from you…_

“I feel …a little pain on occasion… as if the blade that pierced me has done so again…”

“Do you feel this pain often?” Gentle hands guided Eivor towards an abandoned table which she discretely wiped clean of cobwebs.

“Sometimes, it is not as frequent as it was.” Harald’s healer had reassured her that these bouts of pain would fade over time but to a woman who was used to crashing through windows and leaping from the tops of Saxon churches, it was not fading quick enough.

“We will speak to Valka before we return to England, she will have some remedy that will aid you.” If Valka did not, Randvi would find some other way to soothe the woman she loved.

When the pain finally dissipated, Eivor looked around the darkened hall which had once been bustling with life as a lump formed in her throat; she could still hear the songs sung by poorly trained skalds, the crashing of wood and bone as raiders fell from great heights, the cheering of ‘Skal’ as her father pledged his clan to Strybjorn.

“I still remember the smell of the feast. The anticipation of a meal I never got to eat.” Food had tasted like ash in the months that followed the raid but whether that was from the injury to her neck and throat or from the grief that consumed her she could not say.

“I fear my mother would weep if she could see what has become of this place.” The same prickle of shame she had felt as she walked the grounds resurfaced as she took in the cobwebs which decorated every surface and the wilderness which had invaded the chambers.

_Mother…I remember you putting me to work in these halls…even now I despise cleaning…._

_“_ Come then.” Randvi gripped the clasps of her cloak before tugging the thick material over her head. It would take hours to return this hall to its former glory but if doing so would ease the grief that held Eivor in its icy grasp it would be hours well spent. “Let us take back from the forests what is yours by right.”

\--

“To the left…no your other left…beautiful.” All concerns for her injury seemed to have disappeared from Randvi’s mind as she again directed Eivor’s movements through the hall, smiling to herself at the muffled groans that left the woman’s lips.

“Beautiful? Are you referring to me or the work you have me doing?”

“Both.” The sun which had flamed high in the sky lingered just above the tip of the mountains in the distance but neither women noticed for they were too consumed by the task at hand to care for such trivial matters.

“A Longhouse finer than any I have seen.”

Before their eyes the hall had been made anew; candles burnt brightly where there had once been only darkness, warmth filled the air where there had once been coldness, and laughter echoed through the chambers which had once only heard screams of terror.

“It is just as I remember it.”

No words could convey the depth of her gratitude and adoration for the woman who had toiled at her side for the majority of the day so instead, she held out her hand and waited impatiently for Randvi to cross the room.

“Thank you, Randvi.” She pulled the woman to her chest and sighed in relief as Randvi pressed herself deeper into her embrace. The ghosts that plagued her, the howling wilderness kept at bay by weathered wood, none of these things could harm her if she remained in Randvi’s embrace.

The crackling of the hearth dragged Eivor back through her memories to a time when she had been much younger.

“Mother used to sing me to sleep by this hearth. Her voice made me feel safe. I have not felt safe since then. Not really.” She did not remember the words or the melody clearly but she remembered the warmth of her mother’s arms as they held her tight and the way her father would carry her to her bed when he thought she was sleeping.

Looking back, she had never felt anything but love and adoration from the parents she had vilified; a harsh truth which now she would see confronted.

“Randvi…when Sigurd and I were in Gungnir, we found …something.” Randvi leaned back just enough to stare into eyes that looked to be miles away.

“I do not understand how or why but I saw Valhalla.” Her breath caught in her throat as she dwelled on how it was possible for the woman to have seen such things and yet be beside her now.

“…or a vision of it at least. I saw the hall of the slain, fought in the eternal battle, ate from the feast that renewed with each new morn…” She allowed Randvi to guide her towards the furs they had piled high beside the hearth, leaning back into their comforting embrace before forcing herself to continue.

“It was everything I had ever wanted but as the days dragged on it began to feel hollow…empty…”

“Please Eivor, you do not need to say more.” Her longing to understand what the warrior had experienced was nothing in comparison to her desire to see Eivor content and happy and if Eivor needed time to understand her experiences before she was ready to share them she would give it gladly.

She went willingly into Eivor’s embrace as the woman pulled them both back against the furs. It would be so easy to take the path offered to her by this woman who knew her so well, to turn her back on all she had seen and banish the memories to the far corners of her mind but this was something she would not do.

“I saw my father on the battlefield.” When she had seen Varin’s broad shoulders in the distance and heard the familiar sound of his voice as it rang through the air she had felt the earthquake under her feet. She had longed to see her father in the halls of the slain since she had been old enough to understand the concept of Valhalla, but in her eyes, he had sacrificed his place when he had died a dishonourable death.

“He should not have been there; he did not deserve a seat at Odin’s table after the shameful way he died. Except I …I no longer believe he did die with shame.” Her eyes roamed through the candlelit hall before she turned to Randvi who hung on every word.

“He died believing that his death would save his people. That his dishonour would be enough to save us from Kjotve’s wrath.” Her voice broke as the unbearable weight of her guilt crashed down upon her; he had acted as he had to save his people, to save her and she had condemned him for it.

Eivor’s dedication to honour was as constant as the rising and setting of the sun and for Randvi to see her now struggle with her actions as that dedication crumbled into dust prompted her to wrap her arms around Eivor’s shoulders and pull her to her chest.

“Had I known this agony awaited you I would never have let you face it alone.” She would never have let Eivor leave her side if she had known she would lose that which she had believed in so strongly.

Eyes that had fluttered shut in anguish for the woman in her arms opened just as Eivor placed Varin’s axe at her feet. “I…I do not know if I am worthy of this.”

The weapon which had strengthened her as she confronted her enemies now felt heavy in her grasp; her father had cast this weapon aside to prevent more bloodshed yet she had defied his wishes to wield it in battle; it was hardly a fitting tribute.

Randvi shook her head in disbelief. “Why do you think such things?”

The Drengr did not answer right away and instead studied the sharpened blade as silence surrounded them.

“Look at me Wolf-Kissed.” Her gaze drifted from the weapon to the woman who sat by her side who looked at her with eyes that shone with love and admiration.

“Randvi, don’t…” She could not bear to have someone look at her like that, not when she deserved to feel nothing but scorn

“If Kjotve were to attack us now, if you were faced with the same decision your father had faced what would you do?” Visions of Ravensthorpe on fire, of her friends and family lying dead at her feet as a blade was held to Randvi’s throat, stole her breath, and left her clinging to the woman tightly.

“Anything…I would do anything to protect you, protect our people.”

“Even at the cost of your honour?”

Without question. Without hesitation. She would sacrifice everything if it meant her people were… _oh…_

“Yes.”

“You honour the memory of your parents by protecting those you love, by ensuring we are safe. They would be proud of the woman you have become Eivor, as I am. Do you believe me?”

The Drengr could only nod slowly as the guilt of her past actions lifted from her heart.

An overwhelming sense of relief washed over Randvi as she watched a lightness return to blue eyes which had been darkened for too long.

She reached for the axe that lay between them and cradled it gently before placing it in Eivor’s shaking hands. “So how could you not be worthy enough to carry this?”

\--

Randvi was barely able to supress a groan of relief as the buildings of Fornburg finally came into view. They had spent what remained of the afternoon sunlight securing the boundaries of Heillboer and paying their respects to those who had fallen at Kjotve’s blade before riding through ice and snow towards what had been their home. Randvi’s eyes dipped as a wave of weariness swept through; she had never longed so much for the warmth of her bed. She groaned in annoyance as Eivor dismounted quickly, before reaching for Randvi’s waist and holding her steady as she slipped from the saddle to stand upon the snow-covered ground.

“Are you well?” It never ceased to amaze her how Eivor’s concern could make her feel so cherished and adored.

“I am fine. Only a little tired, but well enough.”

“Let us get you out of these soaked furs.” The suggestion behind her words wiped all exhaustion from her mind as she imagined Eivor slowly ridding her of her cloak and tunic.

She opened her mouth to speak of her desires but was interrupted by the sound of a distant door smashing against the wooden frame. Eivor pulled Randvi tightly to her side as she raised her axe, only lowering it when she spotted Vili waving in the distance.

“Bacraut…”

“Eivor! Randvi!” Muttering a number of curses under her breath as Randvi affectionally patted her stomach, Eivor waved to the great form which blocked so much of the light streaming from the Longhouse’s doors.

“Come! We are to feast as Gods now that you have returned!” A distant cheer tore through the Longhouse as Vili stumbled back inside to wait for them both in the warmth. An amused chuckle rose from Randvi’s lips as she watched Rollo and a woman she did not recognise stumble towards the raiders barracks before turning to Eivor who merely rolled her eyes.

“I can make our excuses if you wish to rest.” Randvi blushed; she could grow accustomed to being cared for by this fearsome warrior

“An evening by the hearth with meat and ale to warm us is all I desire now.” As if to prove her point she pressed herself against Eivor tightly and kissed her softly, her pleased smile growing into a smug grin as she took in the blissful expression worn by the Drengr when she pulled away. “Will you walk with me?”

“Of course, lead on.” They strolled along the water’s edge as the sounds of the feast grew louder, grinning with excitement as they entered the Longhouse to rapturous applause.

“There you are Eivor!”

“Brother, what is this?” The hall was packed with those she knew and those she did not yet all seemed overjoyed at her return. The brush of Randvi’s fingertips against the sensitive skin of her wrist was all the notice she was given before the woman disappeared into the crowds in search of ale.

“A feast, to celebrate the arrival of King Harald.” She followed his eye line to the far corner where Harald and Strybjorn seemed to be in deep discussion

“Harald? Why has he come?”

Sigurd’s gaze lingered on the man who had usurped his birthright for a few seconds before motioning for Eivor to follow him. “To bid us farewell before we return to England.”

“England…”

_How strange that a land filled with those who despise us is now more of a home to me than the lands of my birth…_

“When do we sail?” Her fingers itched to press against the fully healed wound at her side as she waited for Sigurd to speak but she forced her hands to remain by her side; she would not allow the action to become an unconscious tick whenever she was anxious.

He raised the mug of ale to his lips and savoured the amber liquid before answering. “Tomorrow.” Tomorrow she would bid farewell to these lands she had once known, to return to lands she hoped to one day know better.

“Scarcely arrived and now we must leave?” Eivor gratefully accepted the mug offered to her by Randvi and tried to hide her love-sick grin as their fingers brushed together gently.

“Randvi is right, our people travelled far to reach us. They deserve a few days of rest and respite.”

“Very well.” Sigurd could see he would not win this argument, and if he was truthful he did not wish to; even he could not deny the happiness he felt at the thought of spending a few more days in the lands of his birth.

“Before the week is out though.” Sigurd hid his smile behind the lip of his mug as the women shared a silent look before nodding in acceptance; a few more days would suffice.

“Come, both of you. There are things we should discuss away from keen ears.” The trio abandoned their mugs and slipped from the hall into the blistering winds.

“Gods.” His voice froze in the air as snow began to fall from the heavens. “I do not remember it being so bloody cold!” As he looked to the distant shoreline, Eivor slipped her thick, fur coat from her shoulders to wrap it securely around Randvi, smiling lovingly at the woman who leaned into her side gratefully.

“England has softened you brother. Where is the man who once swam beneath the frozen rivers to retrieve his longsword?”

“Long gone I fear…”

Eivor flinched at his wistful tone. “Brother…I did not mean…” He raised his hand to silence her apologies; he had no need for them now.

“Eivor…I have had much time to reflect on all that has transpired. On our journey to England, the struggles we have encountered and overcome, the battles we have won and fought.”

_You appear to be in a melancholy mood brother…what other things have you dwelled on…_

“I have seen and endured much.” Randvi’s eyes lingered on what remained of Sigurd’s arms as sympathy welled in her eyes. “I now realise that I am not the man I once was.”

“Brother…”

A gentle pinch at her side silenced her words. “Let him finish my love.”

The coldness of the air did not compare to the coldness that gripped her heart as Sigurd turned to her with a resolute expression. “My time as the Jarl of our clan has run short.”

The Drengr could do nothing but stare in disbelief; was this not been the same man who had sailed them across the seas because his jarldom had been given to another? Who had spent months dreaming of a unified England with himself as its master?

“I…I do not understand Brother.”

_If you will not be Jarl who will?_

Her eyes drifted to oceans as she looked to the distant shores of England that waited impatiently for their return. There were many amongst their clan who Eivor knew would lead with wisdom and courage but none more so than the woman at her side who stared up at her with an unfamiliar look.

_I would follow you anywhere my love, you need only say the word…_

“Eivor…you must lead us now.” Time seemed to still as his words filtered through her dumbstruck mind to pierce her heart.

“I…me?” Randvi’s hand suddenly appeared in her own as she felt her grip on reality waver. She clung tightly to Randvi as she watched Sigurd step closer with wary eyes that grew more cautious with every passing second.

_You once accused me of being quick to anger…would you have this glory-obsessed Drengr lead us into an uncertain future…_

“Sigurd…I…?”

“I recall our days in Oxenefordscire, our search for the Saga stone. You disagreed with my orders. But you followed them. You questioned my methods, my aims…but you did not disobey.”

She had hated every moment spent in that shire; every second spent dodging Saxons and chasing fantasies had to her seemed a waste of time and energy but as Sigurd had said, she had not disobeyed his orders.

“You called me a muck-minded fool brother.” Randvi’s eyes narrowed as she looked to Sigurd who seemed lost in his own recollections; Eivor had not mentioned this to her before and as she felt the familiar prickle of anger rise in her breast, she understood why Eivor had not.

“You said I was not always to be trusted, that my passions overcame me…”

“I did say these things and at the time I believed them. But now I have come to realise that you were the only one I could have trusted the greater matters to, the only one I trust our people's futures to.” She did not know if she fully believed him but she was too tired to dwell on the events that had led to his capture; the memories, even after all this time were too painful to relive.

“I remember and admire the way you guided us from Norway to England. You kept my anger in check, my ambitions focused.” Those days spent crossing the oceans with her brother by her side had been some of the happiest of her life; had she known how limited in number those days would be she would have done everything in her power to keep them atop of the Whale Road.

Sigurd smiled softly as he studied the way Randvi clung to Eivor’s arm. “Randvi has told me of your bravery, your courage, your wisdom. In my absence, you were a pillar of stone. She admires you.”

Eivor’s eyes lingered on Randvi’s blushing cheeks as she turned to face her in the darkness.

“You do?” Her voice was soft, almost hesitant as she looked to Randvi for the reassurance she did not realise she desperately craved.

“I do. I admire everything you are and everything you will become.” Sigurd discreetly looked away as frost-bitten fingers brushed against the woman’s warm cheeks; for all the darkness he had brought to his people, he did not deserve to look upon something so pure.

“Brother…do you mean all you have said?” His amused laughter was light on the air as he reached for her shoulder and gripped it tightly.

“I do. Every word. Where you go Eivor, I will follow.”

Across the seas, to England or further west to Vinland, he would follow her as she had once followed him, without hesitation, without question.

“I…” Her voice grew silent as she reflected on the years she had spent standing in her brother's place. Memories of words spoken to her by men she had greatly admired broke through the stunned state that held her and dampened any happiness her brother’s words created.

_“Reckless stripling…glory-hoarder…”_

_“You covet Sigurd’s place upon the high seat of your clan…and though your fates were weaved long ago you do not fight against this, you welcome it.”_

_“You have left us without a Jarl…without a purpose…watching you chase glory around this land like a spooked hare!”_

These words had been spoken by those she had looked to for fair judgement at a time when she had only tried to lead with wisdom and courage. Their verdicts had been damning and difficult to hear but she had clung to them as if they were a lifeline, their honesty grounding her at a time when it would have been so easy to give into arrogance.

_If I met those men again would they judge me the same…_

“You have a stormy look.” She blinked heavily as memories of days gone by were replaced by the sight of Randvi and Sigurd looking to each other with concern. “Why?”

_Why do I hesitate…why do I pause when it is clear that my path has led me to this moment?_

“Brother I…I have not always acted as I should…” If her brother could speak plainly of matters that were painful to him then she would afford him the same curtsey.

“What do you mean?” She tightened her hold on Randvi as she forced herself to speak of events she long wished never to speak of.

“When we were in Oxenefordscire there was a moment when I…I doubted your judgement.

He frowned in confusion before resting his hand on her arm in reassurance. “When?” All three of them knew that there were many moments in which doubt had been justified.

“When we stood before the King of Wessex, you looked to exchange warriors as a way of demonstrating good faith.” Randvi felt her heart stop as she recalled the moment Eivor had told her of these events, how terrified she had been when she realised how close she had come to losing her. She pressed herself tighter to Eivor’s side as she continued. “I remember you looked to me but I…I did not step forward.”

“I remember.” At the time, he had interpreted her reluctance as proof of her disloyalty to him and to his vision but he knew now he had been wrong; she had not acted out of disloyalty to him, but out of loyalty to another.

The Drengr looked down at the hand clasped tightly in her own as she reflected on another event that plagued her.

“I would have torn England apart to free you from Fulke’s clutches brother…I fear I would have done so, if not for the blunt words of our allies or…” Her sentence trailed off as she remembered how tightly she had clung to Randvi in the darkness of her chambers and how safe the woman had made her feel as she looked upon shadows only she could see.

“Brother I…I fear what I would do if I was put in that position again…” Her traitorous mind conjured up images of Aelfred marching on their borders and setting their settlement alight, of Saxon soldiers butchering those she loved; she would have torn England apart to rescue Sigurd but for Randvi, she would set the entire county alight. How could she lead her people when she could so easily jeopardise all they had achieved?

“Peace Eivor, I understand.” She resisted the urge to scowl at his placating words.

_If you understood you would not have spent months travelling the countryside in service to your visions…_

Randvi wished in that moment that she could carry Eivor away into the night and never look back; to spend the remainder of their days tucked away in a quiet corner of the world where these fears could never find them. “These burdens you bear…they need not be yours alone.”

“Randvi…”

Soft fingertips pressed against Eivor’s lips to silence her words; she had kept her peace while the two siblings talked openly but now they would both hear her.

“You have done more for our people than we could ever hope to repay. You have endured all that we could not without complaint or hesitation. My love…let us share in your burdens, let us help you in the times to come.”

Her brother nodded in agreement. “You need not shoulder this weight any further.” She went willingly into Sigurd’s embrace as she breathed in the scent of pine, salt, and something unique to her brother. Tears that had been kept at bay for too long finally slipped down her cheeks as she felt Sigurd pull Randvi into their embrace.

The three of them remained locked together for several long moments simply basking in the closeness they had been without for so many months and for the first time since arriving in England, each of them felt a renewed sense of hope.

“We have you Drengr. We will always have you.”

\--


End file.
